


We're Worth More Than Anyone Bargained For

by betweentheheavesofstorm



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Activists, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angelica is a bro, Angst and Humor, Aro/Ace Peggy Schuyler, Asexual Character, Awesome Peggy, Boys Kissing, British, Cliche, Elections, Eliza is sunshine, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Laurens/Peggy, M/M, Making Out, Mention of past relationships, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Pining, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Build, Slow Burn, University student Washington, at least a bit, ish, sixth form AU, tired students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheheavesofstorm/pseuds/betweentheheavesofstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is not that Aaron Burr believes in nothing. He's got a number of rules to live by, for instance, and is committed to adhering to them. </p><p>The problem is that Alexander Hamilton believes in everything.<br/> </p><p>Or: the one where they're tired British students</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This being very British-y, I'll include explanations of school systems and stuff in the end note.

By mid-August, Aaron Burr was the most bored he’d ever been in his life. Summer had started off on a good note, the refreshing freedom after exams and the beauty of being able to waste days doing absolutely nothing. Yet that period swept past and left in its wake a crushing monotony from which there seemed no escape. He spent a day rearranging all the books in his room, only to decide the next day that he didn’t like it and promptly move everything back.

Worse than the boredom, though, was the realization that it was temporary. AS Results day came and went, an experience that was almost (not quite) as nerve wracking as the exams themselves. And then suddenly it was the beginning of September, and Burr was having to think about whether he needed any more supplies and track down all the pens that had magically dispersed themselves all over the house.

He wakes up on the first morning of term feeling like he’s blinked and missed the last bit of summer. As far as the weather’s concerned, of course, it still could be August – it’s still as cloudy and mild as it had been for the past two months. He gets up slowly, piecing together the bits of his old morning routine. It’s jarring to be woken at six-thirty after weeks of getting up between nine and noon, but it’s come as enough of a shock to his system that he’s not drowsy.

There are some aspects of his morning routine that Burr doesn’t mind. Reading _The Guardian_ on his phone while eating toast and waiting until the last possible minute before going outside. It’s always eerie to get up early when he hasn’t in a while and notice how empty everything feels. This isn’t quite early enough to capture that feeling, though, as the streets are busy with people escorting their children to school.

He sets off in a relatively good mood, a bag already stuffed with empty folders and blank exercise books slung over his shoulder. After a relatively neutral AS year, he’s got high hopes for A2. There are some areas he can definitely improve upon, and he won’t deny he’s looking forward to the seniority - starting again and being able to know everybody. People say A2 is easier, anyway.

His bus is on time, for once. He taps in and realises in a rush that his student Oyster card will expire the next September. Only one year left of free buses. He’s going to have to make the most of it.

The seat he usually takes is occupied, so he sits halfway along the bus in order to still be next to a window. The drab landscape of local shops slides past, and he registers that where there once was a local barbers’ there’s now a Ladbrokes.

The bus stops again, and more people get on – other teenagers and children on their way to school. One of them takes the seat next to him and he’s not sure whether he should be jealous that a ten-year-old has a better phone than he does or relieved that the kid is alone and texting and not part of a noisy group.

For some reason the journey feels shorter than he expected. It’s as if Burr has only got properly settled when it pulls in at his stop and he has to get off.

Richard Rodgers Secondary and Sixth Form looms ahead of him and he involuntarily suppresses a sigh. He can tell already that the moment he walks in it’s going to feel like no time has passed and he’ll be ready for a break again. It’s got to happen sooner or later though, so he doesn’t dally long outside.

(The other reason is the crowd of smokers that has already assembled. One day Burr will walk through the gates without passing through a haze of cigarette smoke, but whether that day will ever come or merely hover tantalizingly on the horizon is another question.)

It is weird to be back. At a look from one of the security guards, he hooks his ID out of his bag and around his neck. As soon as he’s out of sight, he drops it inside his jumper so it’s not visible. Weirder than being here though are the clouds of anxious new students, buzzing around and sitting by themselves while trying not to look lonely. As it’s a secondary school as well, Richard Rodgers gets its fair share of students that have just moved up as well as a handful of newbies.

In either case, they’re amusingly easy to spot. Their most obvious characteristics are the brand new bags, carefully styled hair and the sweet innocence that comes with always wearing their lanyard around their neck. The A2 students stand out just as much, their ease and familiarity etched in the lines of their bodies.

Burr spots Lafayette across the canteen and gives him a small wave. Distance has made him sentimental. Lafayette waves back, and moments later he, Mulligan and Laurens sweep over, all three of them more enthusiastic than anybody should be on a Monday morning.

‘Hi,’ Burr says.

‘Hey! Good summer?’ Laurens seems to have forgotten that they had this exact conversation on results day, or perhaps he thinks everyone’s been on wild and wacky adventures in the two weeks since.

‘Yeah, it was all right. You?’

‘It was, you know, summery.’ Laurens is grinning. ‘They put a pool table in the common room. Gonna have our first tournament at lunch. You want to come?’

‘I can’t play pool,’ Burr admits. ‘But I’ll come.’ After all, he doesn’t want to get mistaken for an AS, moping around by himself.

Laurens beams. ‘Great!’ And he’s off talking again, recounting some incident over the holidays with some assistance from Lafayette, while Mulligan gives the pretence of listening when really he’s trying to catch the eye of a girl on the other side of the hall. During his quiet summer, Burr forgot quite how loud boys can be, and suddenly all that time alone doesn’t seem too bad.

OK, maybe that’s an exaggeration. He won’t deny that there’s something nice about being near enthusiastic people, the type who are determined to squeeze as much life as possible out of every moment. That said, he doesn’t know these guys as well as the interaction would have one think. They all had History together last year, and sat at the same table, but really that was the extent of the friendship.

Laurens pauses for breath and Lafayette takes over, now gleefully mocking some American tourists he came across while visiting family in Paris. Even though everybody says his English has got a lot better in the past couple of years, every so often he’ll forget a word and substitute the French equivalent instead. It makes listening to him interesting, if a little confusing.

When he’s had as much dramatic storytelling as anyone can take in the morning, Burr makes his excuses and hurries off to the stairs. It’s early enough for most of the passageways to be clear. Emboldened by that, he takes the stairs two-at-a-time and nearly crashes into somebody in the second-floor stairwell. In his defence, she’s standing squarely in the way, too busy holding her phone aloft like it’s baby Simba to notice anybody. That is until the narrowly avoided collision, at which point she almost drops the phone, only just recovering it in time.

‘Sorry,’ Burr backtracks, and she turns around to face him. He’d thought her hair was familiar; it’s Angelica Schuyler.

‘You’re in a hurry,’ she remarks, with remarkable composition given what’s just happened. ‘Afraid somebody’s going to steal your seat?’

He disregards the comment. ‘What were you doing?’

‘Trying to get signal. I only just remembered that the wifi gets worse the further up you go, and I couldn’t be bothered to walk down only to come up again.’

He nods, and Angelica tilts her head. They aren’t quite friends, but rather somewhere between acquaintances and rivals. Philosophy last year was a constant race between them as to who could get the most marks. It was probably good for them – competition bringing out their best and so on – but at the same time it caused no small amount of stress.

‘Who do you have for Philosophy this year?’ she asks, leaning against the railing and slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. Angelica is the sort of person who will pick out clothes based on comfort and yet somehow it will still look stylish.

‘Jack. You?’

‘Eloise.’ The response is accompanied by a sigh. ‘She’s supposed to be a good teacher, but all I know about her is that her office is covered with pictures of birds. Not even a specific type. Just birds. Apparently sometimes she comes into class with a mug shaped like a pigeon.’

‘How can you get a pigeon-shaped mug?’

‘You tell me.’

By some unspoken agreement, they start walking again. The stairs are probably the part of Richard Rodgers that Burr likes least. You’d think the amount of time he spends climbing them, he’d develop some decent leg muscles but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

‘Is it me, or does everyone in AS look really young?’ he asks, deciding it’s worth keeping the conversation going. This is probably the longest he’s ever spoken to Angelica without mentioning Descartes, and, well, it’s something new.

‘It’s because they still have hope and innocence. OK, perhaps not innocence,’ she amends, ‘but they’re seeing college as fresh start.’

‘Depressing, isn’t it?’

She laughs. ‘Peggy’s starting today. I offered to show her around, but apparently she has it in hand.’

‘Your sister?’

‘Yeah, she’s the youngest.’

Burr vaguely knows of Angelica’s other sibling, Eliza, but he’s not sure if they’ve ever spoken.

‘What did you drop?’ Angelica asks, as they skirt around a couple of students that are sat making out on the stairs. They could really find somewhere a bit more discreet, Burr thinks.

‘Creative Writing.’ He says it with a wince. Not just because it was a subject he hated, but because it sounds ridiculous and he’s not sure he likes Angelica enough to admit that he’d taken it.

If she cares, she does a very good job of hiding it. ‘Peggy’s doing that. I dropped Psychology. It was interesting, but not really my thing.’

 _What is?_ Burr’s close to asking but thinks better of it. However friendly they’re being now, it’s hard to forget how often they clashed last year. Things might get easier now that they don’t have class together, but still. Out of everyone he could bond with, Angelica Schuyler is not the best choice.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to think of a new topic because they’ve reached the third floor. With a parting nod, she goes left and he turns right. The corridors are starting to fill and get noisier. Burr arrives at his Politics room – it’s adjacent to where he had class last year – and finds the door already open. A couple of people are already inside and from the raised voices echoing out into the hallway it sounds like they’re disagreeing on something.

It would be nice to have one day without some kind of drama erupting, but clearly fate is against him. Burr sighs again and ducks inside. Sure enough, two students are standing by the middle table and yelling at each other. Even though it’s really loud, he can’t tell what it’s about. He suspects it’s one of those arguments that might have made sense once, only that time was a while ago and now they’re just trying to drown the other one out in the hope that that will render them victorious.

He recognises one of the students easily. Thomas Jefferson couldn’t blend in if his life depended on it. Nor is it a huge surprise that he’s shouting, because frankly some people were put on this earth to be disagreeable.

The other guy is more of a mystery. Burr doesn’t know him, and not in the general ‘been here a year but still meeting new people’ way. More in the ‘absolutely positive I have never set eyes on this person before’ way, with a certainty that he can’t quite define. Maybe the guy’s a lost AS with an argumentative streak.

Either way, it’s best not to get involved. Burr retreats to a table on the other side of the room and takes as long as possible to take out his Politics folder and write his name on the exercise book. He arranged his pens in neat lines, first by colour and then by personal preference. For some reason, blue biros always work better than black ones. It seems like a cruel trick of the universe when one remembers that black ones are compulsory for all exam papers.

Searching for another activity, he reads the posters on the wall. Some are handmade either by students or staff while others are aesthetically neat enough to look professional. On the wall behind him are ones with the history of different political parties, across the room are the stats from the last general election and over by the door there’s a rather amusing caricature of Tony Blair.

Gradually, the rest of the class file in, all giving a similarly wide berth to Jefferson and the stranger. In fact, it’s not until the teacher shows up and very loudly tells them to be quiet that the argument ends. Jefferson, with the self-satisfied smirk of somebody who’s convinced that they won, retires to the nearest table, while the unfamiliar boy glowers and finds a seat of his own. Burr notices that none of his new neighbours look thrilled to have him with them.

The lesson never really recovers from there. Jefferson manages to answer every question in a way that comes off as an indirect criticism of everyone else. Naturally, the new guy (who as it turns out is not an AS at all but a fully-fledged A2) won’t stand for that, and more arguing ensues. This is not boding well for Burr’s policy of avoiding drama.

Through perseverance and mentally blocking out their voices, he manages to get some work done. If he’s honest, the most distracting thing isn’t the noise, though that is a pain too. It’s that the strange guy is really fun to watch. He brings so much bristling energy to the room that Burr is surprised he doesn’t scorch the table he’s (figuratively) pounding on. When he talks his hands move and his eyes flash and it becomes painfully obvious how much he cares about what it is he’s arguing for. It’s kind of endearing, if irritating as well. How are you supposed to have political debates about hypothetical concepts when the other person fiercely believes in their side of it?

Despite the arguments (or perhaps because of them) class ends sooner than he expected. In the flurry of packing up, Burr sees the new guy approach Jefferson and open his mouth to start Round 3.

Burr’s out of the room like a shot. Even if it means he’s embarrassingly early to his next class and he misses out on a chance to see the hurricane that is the new guy at work, he has to think of his eardrums as well. This is only the first class of the first day, for crying out loud. He should not be avoiding people already.

Unsurprisingly, he’s the first person into the History room. He goes for a table in the middle, hoping to find some sort of neutrality. It’s not so far back that he won’t hear anything, but not so close as to always get picked on to answer questions. (His History teacher is the same as last year, a man who instead of just selecting students will frantically scan the room, making hopeful eye-contact and waiting for somebody to speak up. It’s a thoroughly flawed system.)

That aside, though, A2 History has been something he’s been looking forward to. A lot of last year was duller than it should have been, whereas this course looks more promising. There’s also the hope that only students that genuinely like History will have stayed on to A2, but if his morning’s Politics is anything to go by he can’t be too hopeful.

Somebody else walks into the room and suddenly all of Burr’s positive aspirations about the subject begin to drain away.

‘Hi,’ the strange guy says, dropping into the seat next to him. Apparently nobody gave him the memo that forbids sitting next to people you don’t know. If there’s only two of you in an empty room, sitting at the same table is acceptable if you still leave plenty of space. Different tables is less social but usually much better. Burr’s not sure where these etiquette laws came from, only that it’s vital everybody obeys them.

‘Hi,’ he says, cautiously.

‘This is History set 4, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘The units look good this year. Have you looked at them? I think the Russian Revolution will be my favourite, but the Cold War is cool too.’ He thinks for a minute, and then adds, ‘it’s very Eurocentric, though. I’d rather study revolutions on other continents.’

‘Mm,’ Burr says. Even tentative conversation would put him off – he’s very much a believer in people sticking to themselves – and this is far from that. When will people just learn to shut up and mind their own business?

‘And of course there’s coursework this year,’ the boy rambles on, oblivious. ‘I’m more of an exam person. Having more time just stresses me out. At GCSE I rewrote my English coursework six times. Rewrote completely, I mean – I did six different questions.’

‘Huh.’ It’s not the best response in the world, but what else is Burr supposed to say? _“I’m genuinely very interested in your preferences about methods of assessment, please continue?”_ Even in his most sarcastic mood, he couldn’t manage that.

Still talking, the boy gets out his folder and sets it out on his side of the table. It’s clearly been used before; another name has been scribbled out and ‘A.Ham’ written above it.

Burr stares at his own notes and tries to retain the will to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, some English things:
> 
> • They're in their second year of sixth form, which is equivalent to American senior year of high school. In Britain we have primary school until you're 11, secondary until you're 16 and then sixth form for two years and then university.
> 
> • Ladbrokes is a British-based betting/gambling company.
> 
> • Tony Blair was Prime Minister for Britain between 1997 and 2007. 
> 
> *Edit* It's been pointed out to me that this isn't comprehensive enough, so here are some more details.
> 
> \- The first year of sixth form is referred to as AS, the second as A2. At the moment (the system is about to change, but this is how I know it/how they're experiencing it) you take exams at the end of both years and together those grades add up to the final 'A Level.'  
> \- Most students take four subjects in their AS year and then drop one for A2. Only three are needed to get into university, though you can keep four if you really want. Sometimes people deliberately pick courses with one they already know they're going to drop, sometimes they pick a 'fun' 4th subject that doesn't correspond to their other subjects. 
> 
>  
> 
> Formalities dispensed with, if you enjoyed this please leave a comment or come talk to me [on Tumblr](http://betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton gives the impression of being a person for whom opening a new tube of toothpaste is a religious experience.

It takes somebody else sitting down and introducing themselves for Burr to learn the full name of his neighbor, which is Alexander Hamilton.

‘You won’t have heard of me,’ he says, which is both true and a very weird thing for a seventeen-year-old to say.

‘But?’ Burr prompts, because it sounds like there was going to be a but.

The boy shrugs. ‘You will.’

‘What, do you want to be prime minister?’

‘I don’t think so.’ He says it like he’s given it a lot of thought. ‘Prime ministers lead, but they don’t get to build. I’d rather have a cabinet position where I’m able to focus on reshaping Britain.’

‘Are you new?’ It’s the only explanation Burr can think of for his not knowing Hamilton, and frankly he’s not sure he could listen to him seriously contemplate whether he’d like to run the country or not.

‘Yes, I transferred from another London sixth form.’ There’s a delicate pause where his audience wonders whether it would be polite to ask why when Hamilton adds, ‘I was expelled.’ Being him, of course, he doesn’t stop there. Why provide the bare minimum, when there’s time for a more comprehensive account?

Burr tunes in and out. Mostly he just watches Hamilton’s face. From the bits that he does hear he gathers that Hamilton got into a furious fight with multiple members of staff about the school’s approach to equality and diversity. Except he wasn’t protesting about the school not being sufficiently tolerant so much as arguing that the textbooks were outdated and contained insensitive phrasing. It sounds like an incredibly petty reason to be expelled, until Hamilton adds that when the school refused to replace the books he stole them from the library and threw them away.

It’s one of the stupidest things Burr’s ever heard. Yes, textbooks from the 90s usually aren’t the best, but they rarely merit such drastic action. It’s a good thing that Hamilton’s pretty, he might not make it otherwise.

(Except he isn’t, incredibly. He’s good-looking in a general sort of way but not astonishing until he opens his mouth. Then watching him is like standing in the middle of a lightning storm. Hamilton gives the impression of being a person for whom opening a new tube of toothpaste is a religious experience.)

The teacher strides in and Burr feels a rush of relief. Timothy’s a good guy; he had him last year. The chatter dies away, though it’s possible Hamilton only stopped because he was at the end of his sentence anyway.

‘Hello, and welcome to A2 History,’ Timothy says, glancing around the room to check for familiar faces. He catches Burr’s eye; Burr looks away. ‘Those of you who had me for AS will remember that I love seating plans. For the rest of the year you’re going to sit exactly where you are now.’

If it would be humanly possible to melt into a puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West, Burr would very much like to do that right now. Shit. He’d forgotten this. He casts an eye around hoping that if enough people oppose it they can have a class revolt. A couple of other people are groaning too, but sadly the grand majority of the class are unaffected.

When the class gets going, though, things improve rapidly. Timothy’s an engaging teacher, and Hamilton is a lot more fun to be around when he’s not fighting with anyone. He takes to the group activities with a zeal that is simultaneously inspiring and naïve, and on top of the set summer homework he’s done extra reading. It seems hardly any time at all until the lesson’s over and it’s time for lunch.

In the back of his mind Burr’s been reconsidering whether after all this he can bear another hour of noise, but after this the company of anybody else is going to be fresh and relaxing.

However somebody else – fate, God, or some petty minor deity that’s really enjoying screwing him over – has something else in mind. The lesson wraps up, Burr stuffs everything recklessly into his bag and would be away and dry if it wasn’t for the fact that Hamilton, too, is capable of packing in record time.

‘Hey,’ he says, falling into step with Burr as he enters the corridor and heads towards the stairs. ‘Is it OK if I have lunch with you? I don’t really know anyone.’

Burr doesn’t say no to this request for two reasons. The first, quite simply, is that when somebody phrases it that way refusal isn’t an option. It takes guts to be that clingy. And the second – Burr would hate to admit it, but when he’s put on the spot there is a little part of him that wants to see what Hamilton will do next.

(The fact that Hamilton beams when he says yes doesn’t affect it at all.)

‘Just a suggestion,’ Burr says, as they squeeze their way through the crowd to the stairs. ‘If you want to learn anything in Politics, maybe avoid deliberately antagonising Jefferson. The guy has a long memory.’

Hamilton frowns. ‘How did you know I was debating with Jefferson?’

‘I was there, we’re in the same set. Plus it’s not debating when you look like you want to tear each other’s throats out. My point still stands. It’s not worth it.’

He huffs indignantly. ‘But he’s _wrong_. What am I supposed to do, sit there? Passivity is how corrupt people get in power.’

‘We are, you know, in college,’ Burr reminds him. ‘The most power anybody has is the ability to nag the administration until they improve the vegetarian option on the lunch menu.’

‘There’s a vegetarian option?’

‘Yes, a handful of lettuce that they imaginatively call salad.’

‘Wait, you’re saying I’m supposed to sit there and ignore Jefferson?’

‘You’ll make your life a lot easier.’

‘But I want to do what’s right, not what’s easy.’

 _Of course you do._ ‘So you argue and you win. Then what? How does that help you, apart from getting you a reputation as a smartarse?’

Hamilton sighs. ‘I’m not going to give up.’ There’s a pause, when both of them consider taking the argument further. It appears that they reach the joint decision that it would be a bad idea, and so Hamilton adds, ‘Aside from the salad, what’s the lunch here like?’

Burr shrugs. ‘Nothing special. It’s better than some. You want to stay away from the pasties, though, they reheat them from frozen and I don’t know why but it makes them weird _._ ’

‘Noted. Do you bring lunch or buy it here?’

‘Mostly I go to the Tesco round the corner. AS stay at college, A2 go out.’

‘Is that a fixed rule?’

He can’t tell if Hamilton is serious or just teasing him. ‘More like an informal custom.’

‘So where are you going today?’

They’ve reached the canteen. Burr sees the crowd and feels his heart sink. The weather’s still fine enough for him to escape outside, but he’s already promised himself to a pool tournament. Besides, he’s on tour guide duty.

‘I’ll just get something here.’ He and Hamilton join the queue. ‘Oh good, it’s her on duty.’

‘Who?’

‘That dinner lady. I don’t know her name – they don’t wear tags – but she’s generous with ketchup packets. You’re supposed to get one free with chips, but some of them are stingy about it.’ He doesn’t even know if he wants chips today, but it was a way to break the awkward silence.

‘So ketchup is rationed?’

‘You could say that.’

‘What else should I know about Richard Rodgers?’

‘Um,’ Burr has to think for a minute. ‘Ever since the drama students did a promenade production of _Merrily We Roll Along_ throughout the sixth form, the ban on naming the Scottish play has extended to the entire building. Before it was just the theatre.’

‘How long ago was that?’

‘Three years.’

‘And you’ve been here since…?’

‘I was at the secondary before. Different buildings, but news still travels.’

‘Is it weird to have gone to the same place since you were eleven?’

'I don’t know. It’s nice to know everyone. Plus there are girls at sixth form.’

Hamilton raises his eyebrows, ‘Girls?’

‘Not like that. Well, slightly like that.’ This is dangerous territory now. Burr’s usually a fairly private person, meaning that while he’s out to just about everybody important, he’s still unsure of informing relative strangers about his sexuality. ‘But yes, the secondary is all boys. That’s why they all go by their last names.’

‘I’d noticed that. And the girls don’t?’

‘Archaic tradition.’

They’re at the front of the queue now. Burr gets a sandwich (they come pre-packaged) and pairs it with a can of Sprite. Hamilton gets a burger.

‘I was going to meet some people,’ Burr says. Hamilton’s face falls for a minute, so he hastily adds, ‘You can come. Are you any good at pool?’

‘Never played.’ He says it with a brash confidence that wouldn’t normally accompany an admission of ignorance.

‘Here’s your chance to learn, then.’

Food in hand, they escape the canteen. You’re not supposed to eat in the rest of the building. Burr starts on his sandwich anyway and Hamilton follows suit.

‘This isn’t bad, actually,’ Burr reflects, swallowing his first mouthful. ‘Given that there are a lot of ways egg-and-cress can go wrong.’

Unsurprisingly, the common room is in chaos when they arrive. Apparently there’s some conflict as to who gets to play pool, because Lafayette is swearing at somebody and Laurens is sitting on the table with the cues held across his lap.

Burr glances back; Hamilton looks as if the pearly gates have opened and he’s face-to-face with Heaven.

‘Hey,’ Burr walk up to the group. Lafayette’s opponents are retreating. It’s probably something to do with the fact that Mulligan is standing behind him and cracking his knuckles. He’s a person who doesn’t have to say much to win his fights.

‘Who’s your friend?’ Laurens hops off the table and eyes Hamilton with interest. ‘Did you compromise your values and befriend an AS?’

‘He’s not an AS and that’s not one of my values,’ Burr replies. He introduces Hamilton, not that the guy needs much help.

‘Cool, cool. Now the important bit.’ Laurens clears his throat. ‘We’re going to do this in the form of straight knockouts. Winners go through to the final.’

‘I’m not playing,’ Burr reminds them, hastily.

‘Good thing too, because I won’t be holding back.’ Lafayette grins.

‘I’ve never played before, but if I watch a game I should get the hang of it,’ Hamilton offers.

Lafayette raises his eyebrows. ‘If you’re sure.’

For somebody who’s never enjoyed televised sports, Burr has a lot of fun watching the first game. Though some of his boasts rang hollow, Lafayette _is_ good. Whereas Laurens adopts a strategy that that involves hitting and hoping for the best, Lafayette plans his shots beforehand. Laurens accepts defeat philosophically (that is, he argues and vows revenge) and surrenders his cue to Hamilton.

‘You sure?’ Mulligan asks.

Hamilton nods. Five minutes later, and they’re seeing why. The boy is a remarkably quick study. He’s making mistakes, of course, and there are plenty of rules he’s unaware of, but it’s still admirable. He’s helped by the fact that Mulligan is a somewhat aggressive player, whose main aim is to hit the balls as hard as he possibly can. There’s an easy innuendo in there, but Burr will let somebody else make it.

Mulligan wins, by a narrow margin, and Hamilton returns to the table that Burr’s sitting on.

‘That was impressive,’ Burr says, feeling oddly like he’s being gracious to say so.

‘I let him win. See that final shot? I missed it deliberately.’

Burr takes a moment to figure out whether it’s more likely that Hamilton is a pool prodigy or he’s pretending he is. He doesn’t have long, though, because the final is beginning and Laurens has come over to watch with them.

‘We need secret training sessions,’ he says, as Lafayette lines up his first shot. ‘Otherwise every tournament is going to be a massacre.’

‘You should learn,’ Hamilton says, turning to Burr and smiling. The smile alone is almost enough to convince him. Almost. The prospect of humiliation, however, remains a powerful deterrent.

‘Nah, I’m good.’

Hamilton shrugs and turns away. Laurens starts telling him something about technique. The combined eagerness of the two of them suddenly makes Burr feel very old.

It’s still nice to be around, though, and to listen to voices other than his own. The common room is typically loud, but for some reason noise isn’t as annoying when you’re with the people who are causing it.

‘Am I hearing this right?’ Laurens nudges Burr, and he realises that in their conversation they’ve moved on to other subjects.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Hamilton and Jefferson?’ From the way that Laurens phrases it, it sounds like a juicy piece of gossip. As in, _have you heard? Hamilton and Jefferson were making out in a broom closet_. It’s a disturbing thought. Burr puts it quickly from his mind.

‘The arguing, yes. In fact, I witnessed it.’

Laurens’ eyes gleam. ‘I’ve been waiting for somebody to yell at him. Hey Hamilton…’

Burr drifts out of the conversation again. Lafayette is leading the game. As he watches, a girl with dyed hair and a spiked collar saunters over to Mulligan. It’s quite a distraction. He nearly breaks the felt on his next move, causing Laurens to heckle him. After a moment’s hesitation, Hamilton joins in.

The lunch break concludes with a resounding if unsurprising victory for Lafayette. Mulligan doesn’t seem to care too much, possibly because the girl is still flirting with him.

‘I’ve got Philosophy now,’ Burr says, semi-apologetic, to Hamilton. ‘You can hang with these guys, if they don’t have class.’

‘That’s fine. Hey, can I get your number?’ For one long, bizarre second it feels like Hamilton is hitting on him. Then it passes. ‘I reckon I should collect contact details for people.’

Unfortunately, he doesn’t just mean it about Burr. Five minutes later and everyone has swapped numbers, Facebook and Twitter. (It appears that nobody knew Mulligan had Snapchat, much less that he’s been posting photos of Laurens and Lafayette all summer.)

‘See you tomorrow, then,’ Burr nods, and backs out of the room. He can still hear their conversation from out in the hallway. It’s a surprise that none of the staff have told them to shut up yet, normally they’re vigilant about that kind of stuff.

It feels like a long day already, the morning centuries ago. He treks slowly up the stairs, trying to get into a more studious mindset. He’s got no idea who is in his new Philosophy set, only that Angelica Schuyler isn’t.

A couple of people are already in the room when he arrives. They’re only vaguely familiar. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing, though; he’s here to learn and not to swap friendship bracelets. In the two classes he’s been in today he’s already met somebody and one person per day is enough for him. Besides, the mixture of people who take Philosophy is uninspiring. There are a few bog-standard students, of course, but the main divide is between the ones that care about the subject and the ones that don’t. Burr knows only two people that fit into the former category, and right now only one of them is in the room.

He hasn’t realised that it feels empty without Angelica until he finds himself looking around for her. They might have been rivals, but at least her presence made things entertaining. She could usually be counted on to challenge his points, and it was certain death for either of them if they forgot to read ahead. Even in hindsight, he’s not sure whether the rest of the class hated them for showing off or enjoyed the fact that they could be counted upon to distract the teacher.

None of his new classmates are half as engaging. He has a momentary flicker of hope when a girl argues in favour of substance dualism, but it transpires that she’s confused, not looking for a challenge. Last year, he constructed a perfectly ridiculous and yet satisfyingly sound defence for direct realism that was only outshone by a passionate speech by Angelica about how Berkeley was right all along and idealism was the way to go.

For some reason, his mind drifts from there to Hamilton. The connection is probably arguments. It's either really good or really bad that Richard Rodgers has no debate club; Burr can only imagine the carnage that would ensue if Hamilton attended.

 

After class he wanders down to the canteen, half-hoping some of the others will be around. None of them are, the only person there is an AS girl on her phone. She's wearing denim overalls and a pink shirt, and he recognises the hat she's wearing as one that Angelica had. So that's Peggy Schuyler. He contemplates introducing himself but decides against it. The gesture would probably come off as weird, and from what Angelica said it doesn't sound like her sister needs any help with the social side of college.

Unable to muster the motivation to look for the others, Burr leaves. He doesn’t have any other classes after Philosophy, something he’s rather glad of. Today hasn’t been strenuous exactly, but he’s still exhausted.

The bus takes forever to come. Thankfully the bus stop is outside a Pret, so he's able to use their wifi. Coffee shops have their perks. Out of curiosity, he looks up Hamilton's Twitter account. A pinned tweet at the top catches his eye.

 

_Just because your voice is the loudest doesn't mean you're right_

It's quite an ironic thing for him to post. Amused, Burr starts scrolling.       

 

_Petition to ban Republicans for running for President. Dogs, however, are permitted._

                                                                                                                         

_Are we sure Cameron isn't the offspring of pigs? The attraction could be a genetic thing. We should consider it_

 

_Oh sure blame the poor for being poor, that always works_

 

_Does it still count as resisting arrest if you’re having a legal argument with the police? Wait no, don’t answer that_

 

It’s really quite absorbing. Burr doesn’t notice the bus has arrived until somebody nudges him in their hurry to catch it. Hastily, he stuffs his phone into his pocket and retrieves his Oyster card from the breast pocket of his coat. He’s planning to have business cards in that pocket some day. Right now travel cards will have to do.

Settling in his usual (and thankfully unoccupied) seat, he brings his phone out again. In a few minutes he’ll be out of signal range, but he’s nearing the end of this month’s contract so it’s not going to hurt if he uses data. Resting his bag between his feet, he reopens the Twitter app and starts off again where he left off.

 

_Corbyn: Hey, maybe we should look after the working class_

_David Cameron: What is this un-British attitude?!_

 

_The money I would pay to see a sitcom where the Tories live on a council estate is more than I will ever have_

It seems like five minutes later that he looks up and the bus is slowing down for his stop. The return journey always seems quicker, and apparently can be accelerated further by Twitter-stalking new friends. (Is Hamilton a friend? He’d probably think so. Burr recalls how easily the boy learned pool and decides that friends is OK.)

Arriving home, he dumps his bag and coat in the hall, grabs something quick to eat from the fridge and tramps upstairs to his computer. There’s already homework he could get started on, but it’s only been one day. The assignment can wait.

He settles comfortably in his chair, reopens Twitter on the laptop and almost sheepishly clicks back onto Hamilton’s account. He’d like to find a concrete reason for this action other than finding the boy’s writing fascinating, but if he’s honest there isn’t one. Hamilton talking is compelling enough, but Hamilton typing is something different altogether. Clearer, more coherent and entertainingly ruder.

After Twitter he moves on to Facebook. It’s just as enjoyable. The boy doesn’t post much himself, but can be found passionately fighting in the comment section of other people’s statuses. Burr is strongly reminded of YouTube comment threads, where the first one is something innocent like ‘I love this song’ and the last is along the lines of ‘I can’t believe how ignorant you are, that type of tomato has never been native to that region and FYI, the Russian state duma in 1906 did nothing at all to help the people it was just so that Nicholas II could pretend he supported democracy’ with sixty other comments sandwiched between.

The upside of all of this is that it doesn’t look like A2 year will be boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't think everyone who studies philosophy is either average or a moron, Burr does. 
> 
> If you're wondering what the Cameron/pig tweet was about; it's referring to the allegation made about Britain's PM David Cameron in 2015 that he put his genitals in a pig's mouth. Yes, I'm not kidding.
> 
> Sorry that this update took ages, I was writing a story for a local competition and things got a bit hectic. (I'm also now addicted to Brooklyn 99, which isn't helping my productivity at all).
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please let me know in a comment or find me on tumblr at betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That’s true mark of being a nerd, Burr reckons, when you’re disappointed to have a class cancelled.

The realization that he’s got to get up and go to college again is not a pleasant thing to start Tuesday morning with. Burr gives himself five minutes to gather his thoughts before rising and then he’s sucked into the whirlpool of a college week. It feels only five minutes later that it’s Friday evening. Saturday and Sunday whizz past without anything terrible remarkable. That is, unless you count getting a phone call at three in the morning remarkable.

The good side – or what he tries to tell himself is the good side – is that it didn’t wake him up. He’d been sitting up in bed, computer on his lap and contemplating whether he should watch another episode of _How To Get Away With Murder_ or sleeping for a change. Then his phone goes. It’s sitting charging halfway across the room and in his hurry to answer it he nearly knocks the laptop off his bed.

Anxious to stop the noise before it disturbs anybody, he picks up without checking the identity of the caller. Surely the list of people who could be contacting him is very short. Either Laurens is in jail (possible), Richard Rodgers has burned to the ground (sadly impossible) or somebody has the wrong number.

‘Hey,’ he says. If it’s somebody asking if he’s been mis-sold PPI he might hit something.

‘Hi.’ It’s Hamilton’s voice. ‘Thank God you answered.’

‘Is everything all right?’ Burr sits on the edge of his bed. He’s not good at handling his own emergencies, let alone other people’s.

There’s a heartbeat before Hamilton replies. Burr’s mind runs through half a dozen different nightmare scenarios.

‘Um, yeah, kind of. It’s kind of silly, though.’

‘Did something happen to you? Where are you?’ He’s holding his phone so tightly that the edges are digging into his palm.

‘It’s cool, I’m at home. Do you know the question of the first Politics essay?’

Burr closes his eyes. He can’t seem to relax his hand. ‘Is that what you called me about?’

‘Yes.’

Another pause. Burr might be considering strangulation right now. ‘The essay is due two weeks from now,’ he says, masterfully suppressing his desire to accompany it with expletives.

‘I know, I know.’ For somebody with such a petty inquiry, Hamilton sounds frantic. ‘But I wanted it finished by this Friday so I could get feedback before the deadline.’

‘It’s a practice essay,’ Burr says, dragging out the words. It probably sounds condescending, but he doubts Hamilton is in the frame of mind to notice. ‘It doesn’t matter that much.’

‘Yeah, well, do you have the title?’

Breathe slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. ‘Yes. Give me a second.’ He finds his History folder and picks out the year outline. The essay titles are listed in a column on the left. Clearing his throat, he reads it aloud.

‘You know, I could have just sent you a picture of it,’ he remarks, once Hamilton confirms that he’s written it down. ‘That would have been easier. Actually, hey wait – isn’t this sheet on Moodle?’

‘Oh. Yes. Possibly.’ In the span of thirty seconds, Hamilton has gone from panicked to laidback. ‘Sorry, did I wake you up?’

‘No,’ Burr admits, his eyes sliding to the laptop screen where Viola Davis is frozen, mid-speech. ‘I was up anyway. What are you doing at 3am?’

‘Planning. I couldn’t sleep.’

‘And none of the others had the question?’

‘I didn’t call them.’

‘Right.’ That’s great. In the first week alone Hamilton’s made it more than clear that Burr isn’t the only person whose company he likes. So why is it Burr that he’s calling in the middle of the night?

‘Was that all?’

‘Oh, er, yeah. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome. Just try Moodle first next time.’

Hamilton hangs up without a parting comment. Burr’s left sitting in his room, wondering whether he’s the sort of person to emit a ‘call me at any time for anything’ vibe. If so, what can he do to stop it?’

He gets up to reconnect the phone to its charger. He’d been close to sleep before, lulled by the idea that Annalise Keating would save the day. Something about having a friend desperately request an essay question has woken him up. He opts to watch one more episode, promising himself he’ll got to sleep after that.

 

Before he’s even had time to register that it’s the weekend it’s Monday morning again. Fuelled by coffee, he drags himself to class. Hamilton has changed his seat in Politics so that they’re next to each other. Like all his clingy behaviour, it would be sweet if it were coming from anyone else.

‘Morning,’ Hamilton says brightly. Burr waits to see if he’ll mention their midnight conversation, but he seems to have forgotten all about it. Even conversation about that specific essay does nothing to jog his memory.

‘They keep saying it has to be at A2 standard,’ Laurens complains over lunch. ‘But so far nobody’s said what that is.’

‘Maybe they’ll notice if you use the first letter of every sentence to create a message insulting the teacher,’ Lafayette says, with a pointed look at Mulligan that he stoically ignores.

They laugh, Burr doing so politely. He’s spending more time with these guys than he’s ever done before. It would be nice to say that they’re discovering the true meaning of friendship, but the reality is that it’s because of Hamilton. Wherever Burr goes, Hamilton comes also and somehow the reverse is becoming true. And it’s not like Lafayette & co. are bad company – they’re experts at creating flawed plans and he’s starting to enjoy pointing out where the holes are.

He’s also perfecting his zoning-out technique, with the result that Hamilton’s company is thoroughly more tolerable than it was before. Nor does he seem to notice that nobody’s listening. As long as Burr nods, smiles and agrees now and again the boy will continue on, blissfully oblivious to how little attention his audience is paying.

And though you wouldn’t know it to hear him talk, Hamilton is undoubtedly a people person. Rather than being drained by others’ company he thrives in it, as though just by being there they’re recharging him. He’s both confident and dependent simultaneously, which creates an interesting repetition of ‘Hey can I stay with you?’ or requests to eat lunch with people.

By the end of the second week, Burr feels like making a sign saying, _Yes you can sit here,_ possibly with the additional, _but please for the love of God don’t talk about the American presidential election._

(He’s already heard a detailed critique of all the candidates, the weighing up of Ted Cruz against Donald Trump and how while it would be fantastic to have a female president, is Hillary Clinton the right woman for the job?)

As far as the others are concerned though, Hamilton may as well be a rockstar. Mulligan and Laurens have been known to strategically position themselves so that they can witness Hamilton arguing with Jefferson. Most of the time Burr’s happy to facilitate their infatuation, but when it comes to this he really wishes they wouldn’t. With the constant rows any chance of a History truce has disappeared, meaning that everyone’s just going to have to learn how to take notes with the sound of yelling in the background. They do say you can get used to anything.

For appearance’s sake, Jefferson has started getting his friend and crony Madison to stand behind him when such fights begin. On his side, Hamilton’s got Mulligan and Lafayette. From a distance, the two sides are almost identical.

Almost as interesting as Hamilton are the changes that come with being in their second year. Now that the introductory lessons are over and they’re actually doing stuff Burr is noticing the difference. So far it seems to consist of the ease of balancing three subjects, the terror of realizing that this is his last year of formal education and hearing the phrase ‘this will look great on your UCAS application’ five times a day.

But it’s OK. He’s finding a routine, and that’s important. And his routine is bulletproof, until he comes down to lunch one afternoon to realise that everybody else is off on a History field trip. He couldn’t go – it clashed with his timetable – and it didn’t feel worth the energy it would take to catch up – but the others all have.

Burr pauses, sandwich in hand, by the door of the canteen, wondering if he can find a space by himself. Eating alone is significantly less pathetic when you know you do have friends and they just happen to be elsewhere, not that anybody’s going to be able to tell from looking. Hell, it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s too wrapped up in their own lives to notice or care, anyway.

There’s an empty table at the far end of the canteen, close to the door. Burr moves towards it with the passive-aggressive speed of someone who’s going to be unreasonably annoyed if somebody else gets there before him. It works wonders when finding benches, but there’s a difference between people in sixth form canteens and those in public parks.

This time he’s successful. One end of the table is covered in crumbs, so he sits at the other and pretends not to notice the chewing-gum plastered over the adjacent chair. He’s been sitting there a few minutes when he realises why this table was empty, it’s so close to the door that there’s a draft. Given that it’s September there’s not much difference in temperature, it’s more the fact of having a breeze. It isn’t helped by the fact that people are constantly going in and out, either.

Aware that he’s operating with an audience, Burr takes out his sandwiches and phone. He can procrastinate with one hand and feed himself with the other. If anything it’s more efficient than when he was eating with company. All he needs is earphones and music and the arrangement will be positively idyllic.

‘You’re popular.’

Burr looks up from his phone screen. Angelica is pulling out the seat opposite him and setting a paper plate of chips and a drink on the table. With a green button-down and slacks, she looks more like an adult than he suspects he’ll ever feel.

‘You’re one to talk.’ Regretfully, he locks his phone and puts it aside. He doesn’t terribly want to be friends with her, yet evidently she wants to be friends with him. It’s going to be really annoying if she turns out to be right. She often is.

‘That’s fair. Where’s your posse today?’

‘History trip.’

‘You not interested?’

‘Didn’t want to miss class.’ Years of being a nerd means that he can say it without embarrassment.

‘Again I say fair.’

‘Where are your friends today, then?’

She shrugs. ‘Somewhere else, evidently.’ She does have friends; he’s seen them around. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s OK. You?’

‘Don’t worry about being too eloquent or anything.’ She snaps the tab on the can of her _Fanta_ and takes a sip.

‘How’s life?’ Burr asks. How do you do conversation when you don’t know each other that well?

‘It’s OK,’ she says, with a smile. ‘I’m stressed about UCAs and the deadline is months away.’

‘You already know what you want to do, then?’ he returns to his sandwich.

‘Not exactly.’ Angelica bites the end of a chip and turns the remaining half round, inspecting it as though she’s looking for something unusual. ‘I want to do Classics, but my dad’s pushing me towards Philosophy.’

‘How come?’

Her eyes lock onto his and there’s a momentary flicker of something. Trust is probably the best word, for she starts speaking again a moment later, with noticeably less hesitation.

‘Apparently as the eldest it’s my responsibility to do what will get me the best job. So I can, quote, support my ailing parents, unquote.’

‘What about your sisters?’

‘They already know Eliza will do something sensible, and I don’t know if any of us have a clue what’ll happen to Peggy. Do your parents care what you do?’

‘As long as I do it properly, not really.’ He shrugs.

‘That must be nice. It’s stupid anyway; what jobs would a degree in Philosophy get me?’

‘Good point. And you prefer Classics?’

‘Yes. I don’t think I could do Philosophy anyway, if I had a second choice it would be History.’

‘Why is that?’ This is beginning to feel like an interview. Surprisingly, he doesn’t mind. Angelica’s been a person he knew distantly, and while during the past year he’s never felt any desire to become much closer now that the option is presenting itself he’s not adverse to it.

‘I like arguing, but I hate how rigid it is. History allows for some flexibility. And Classics is fun.’

‘Do you have to know Latin?’

‘A bit, yes. I did it for GCSE so I’m all right. I love the study of ancient civilisations because people go on about how spectacular and grand it was and yet there’s ancient Greek graffiti saying ‘I got laid here’ or ‘whatshisname is gay’. People have always been idiots.’

‘So the idiocy of humanity is amusing?’

‘Sometimes.’ Angelica raises her eyebrows at him. ‘It look living with both my sisters for me to realize it, but things don’t have to be clever to be funny.’

‘What’s something that’s stupid and funny, then?’

‘ _Monty Python_ and vines of cats falling off things or trying to fit into tiny cardboard boxes.’ She offers him a chip. After a moment’s hesitation he takes one. He regrets it after making the discovery that it doesn’t taste amazing when you’ve been eating peanut butter sandwiches.

‘Not to be a gossip,’ Angelica continues, in the tone of voice that suggests she’s going to be exactly that, ‘but you’re the one hanging out with Alexander Hamilton, right?’

Even when the guy’s not physically there, Burr can’t get away from him.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Why?’

‘I used to know him; he went to our secondary school. What’s he like now?’

‘Energetic. Talks a lot, quite superior in that he always thinks he’s right.’

‘And is he always right?’

‘No. Just some of the time.’ He finishes his sandwich and wads up the clingfilm wrapping. ‘I didn’t realise you knew him. He never said anything.’

‘Well, we didn’t exactly part as friends.’ She finishes her chips and stands up to throw away the plate. ‘He was dating Eliza and then he cheated on her.’

Of the many things that Hamilton could have done to get on Angelica’s bad side, this was not one that Burr had expected. Hamilton gave the impression of being honest, or perhaps he just overshared so much that he had to be honest. But never had he come across as the sort of person who would cheat.

‘You look dismayed,’ Angelica remarks, returning to her seat. ‘Placed all your hopes and dreams on him, did you?’

‘No.’ It’s not that he cares so much that he’s surprised. And disappointed in his own judgment. ‘He didn’t seem like the type.’

‘The problem is that there isn’t a type. Just guys, many of whom are arseholes.’

‘Yep.’

She catches sight of somebody over Burr’s shoulder and raises her voice. ‘ELIZA! Hey!’

Burr looks round to see the second Schuyler sister approach and greet both of them with a smile. He’s never spent much time studying Eliza, yet the differences between her and her sister are striking. There’s the physical features, of course – Angelica being black and Eliza half Chinese – but it doesn’t stop there. Angelica always gives the impression of being ruthlessly efficient, as conveyed by her wardrobe and rigid posture. Eliza’s composure is very different: she gives the impression of having control in a much easier, gentler way and her outfit is made up of a sundress under a cardigan.

‘Hey,’ Angelica moves her stuff to make space. ‘You know Burr?’

‘Never met him, but I’ve heard you complain about him,’ Eliza glances sideways and smiles. ‘Only good things, of course.’

‘And how do you complain about good things?’ Burr has to ask.

‘Oh, you know. _He got the last copy of some book out of the library and I know he knows I wanted to reread it_.’

Now that he’s seeing her speak, it’s becoming more and more obvious that she’s Angelica’s sister. Despite them being polar opposites in just about everything, there is a definite resemblance. It’s something about the way she smiles with her eyes and the familiar set of her jaw.

‘I was telling Burr about Hamilton,’ Angelica interjects. He’s surprised by the abruptness of the comment; surely one would be more sensitive about a sibling’s ex?

Eliza doesn’t seem too ruffled. ‘Yeah, he’s here. The first thing he did when he saw me was apologise. Again. I’m over it.’ She sees Burr’s expression and adds, ‘Don’t panic. He’s a good friend, just not a good boyfriend.’

‘OK,’ he says. ‘Don’t date Hamilton. I got it.’

Angelica nudges her sister. ‘Have you seen Peggy?’

‘She’s with her squad in the common room,’ Eliza nods. ‘I’ve been offering to eat lunch with her but she always says no.’

‘Settling in well, is she?’ Burr asks.

Angelica laughs. ‘That’s one way to put it.’

‘It’s a good thing that she’s independent,’ Eliza maintains. ‘I didn’t have half her confidence at AS.’ Her phone beeps. She checks it and sighs. ‘Damn, I have to go. My AS tutee is running late again and I’m supposed to help with her coursework. Nice meeting you,’ she says to Burr, and to her sister, ‘I’ll see you later.’

She disappears, just five minutes after she arrived.

‘Eliza’s always busy,’ Angelica explains, crumpling up her empty _Fanta_ can. ‘Three subjects plus clubs and societies and she’s an A2 mentor.’

‘And I take it she’s all right talking about Hamilton?’

‘Yes. Back when it happened it took her a while to get over him, but we were all kids and she’s tougher than she looks.’

‘What happened?’ Aware that he was more blunt than he intended, he adds hurriedly, ‘You don’t have to say, I was just curious.’

‘It’s fine. He was accused of cheating on a test, so with eyewitnesses and printouts of Facebook messages he proved he had the alibi of cheating on Eliza instead.’

‘Wow.’

‘Yes. It wasn’t even an important test, but the mere principle of the thing.’

‘Now you say it like that, it sounds like something he would do.’

‘His priorities are somewhat skewed,’ she agrees. ‘It makes it all the more annoying that he’s a fucking genius.’

‘You can say that again. I have two classes with him. Eight hours a week.’

‘Have fun with that. Does he do the thing where he asks a completely unrelated question, only it’s a query of such depth and thought that no teacher can resist answering properly?’

‘Oh God, yes.’

‘Ha. On a slightly more positive note, I had a traumatic train experience this morning. A woman kept sneezing on me. And I mean _on_ me. She looked me in the eyes and refused to cover her nose.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Elbowed my way to another part of the carriage. Do you take the tube?’

‘No, I’m a bus person. The biggest problem there is the inability to tell whether somebody’s thrown up or whether it just smells like they did. Either option is quite horrific.’

‘Peggy went through a bus phase,’ she remembers. ‘When she was about ten. She learned all the routes and had preferences and stuff. Sometimes she’d refuse to get on a bus because it was one she disliked.’

‘Was it adorable or annoying?’

‘Both. Definitely going to bring it up at her 21st. Or her wedding.’

‘Is she that likely to get married?’

‘Oh yes. A day entirely devoted to her where everyone stands around and admires her? That’s the dream. Of course, whether she’ll actually get married to a _person_ is another matter.’

‘I saw an article in _The Guardian_ the other day,’ Burr says. ‘It was about this company that offer single women weddings. They get made up and have a bridal photoshoot of them by themselves.’

‘That’s perfect.’ She looks up at the clock. ‘And the dreaded time has come. See you later.’

‘See you,’ he echoes, wondering if one lunchtime is all it’s taken for him and Angelica to be something other than enemies.

 

‘How was the trip?’ he asks, at lunch the following day.

‘We’ve been banned from ever going on one again,’ Laurens says, with an alarming amount of pride.

‘No, _you’ve_ been banned,’ Mulligan corrects him. ‘I’ve kept my record impeccable so that I can blow it in a more spectacular fashion.’

‘There was a room that said _Staff Only_ ,’ Lafayette explains. He doesn’t really need to say more, anyone’s imagination could create what happened next.

‘They overreacted,’ Hamilton insists. ‘We didn’t do any harm.’

‘You broke a chair,’ Lafayette reminds him.

‘Yeah, but they didn’t know that.’

Burr can picture what it would have been like if he’d gone, and suddenly he’s even more glad that he didn’t. If Angelica’s company is the alternative to a house party in human form, he’ll gladly take it. Through other lunchtimes and general interactions, he learns the following things about her.

1) She’s the only person he knows manages to be both cool _and_ a nerd

2) She has a coveted job at Waterstones

3) She enjoys winding up Alexander Hamilton.

From what she’d said about Hamilton before, Burr had imagined that she would want to keep her distance. A few days later he came across them, having usurped the chess club to host their own competition. Hamilton was playing with a theatrical flair, but she was decimating him. And yet when she and Burr play pool after hours she’s terrible at that.

Hamilton, naturally, tries his best to excel at everything.

 

Hearing raised voices resonate out of a classroom is hardly an unusual occurrence, and so Burr is hardly surprised when he hears them before History. One of the people is definitely Hamilton, both because his voice is recognizable and also due to the fact that few other people have the energy to be this vehement about something that probably doesn’t matter.

Burr’s planning to wait outside and let the storm blow over until he remembers that Jefferson isn’t in this class and so it has to be somebody else that Hamilton’s yelling at. Curious (in the same way somebody driving past a traffic accident is curious) he makes his way inside.

It’s Hamilton all right, animated with righteous frustration. The other student is Sam Seabury, which Burr really ought to have been able to predict. He’s exactly the sort of person that Hamilton would have a go at. Yet unlike Jefferson, who at least relishes a chance to flex his debating skills, Seabury doesn’t appreciate the art of arguments. He’s one of the only white students in the class, something that doesn’t deter him from talking as though he’s a walking copy of _The Daily Mail._ In the past he’s asked Burr repeatedly where he comes from (‘Originally, like where in Africa?’) and argued against Britain taking in refugees.

Today, they seem to be fighting about diversity in Hollywood.

‘If they aren’t casting black actors, it’s because there aren’t any that are right for the part,’ Seabury is saying. ‘Not everything has to be politically correct.’

Burr slips into the back of the room and leans against the wall, ready to spectate.

‘It isn’t that nobody’s casting black actors so much as that there are few narratives being explored that aren’t white! Nobody is making films that feature other perspectives or that have non-white people in roles that aren’t stereotypical.’

‘There isn’t an audience for that, though.’

‘How do you know?’ Hamilton folds his arms across his chest. ‘ _The Force Awakens_ had a black lead and it was a huge hit.’

That doesn’t deter Seabury. ‘But that’s _Star Wars._ I don’t see why this is such a big issue. Make your own movies.’

‘Why should we? White people get representation handed to them on a plate.’

‘Why does it matter?’

‘Just because you’re apathetic doesn’t mean you’re right.’ Hamilton advances. He’s about the same height as the other boy but a lot skinner and when he balls his hands into fists Burr realises that there’s a good chance that this could get physical. Seabury just grins, flexing his biceps.

Unpeeling himself from the wall, Burr drops his bag on the nearest table and approaches the two of them, his hands outstretched. ‘Hey, whoa. You want to think about calming down?’

Neither of them pay any notice or even give an indication that they’ve heard. Seabury says something else; Burr doesn’t know what it is but it causes Hamilton to lunge forward.

Burr acts instinctively. Without thinking through what he’s doing he reaches out to grab Hamilton, except he overestimates the distance and rather than seizing a handful of Hamilton’s shirt he ends up with his arms wrapped around the boy’s chest.

Awkward or not, it’s effective. Hamilton isn’t very strong and so it doesn’t take much power to pull him away.

‘Backing down, huh?’ Seabury challenges.

Hamilton redoubles his efforts. He smells like soap and the hands that are scrabbling to break Burr’s grip are remarkably soft.

‘For God’s sake let it go,’ Burr hisses in his ear. Hamilton keeps fighting, but Seabury’s hesitating now.. He looks the two of them up and down and Burr finds himself wondering if he’s going to be in a fight for the first time since primary school. If he gets suspended because of Hamilton, he’s going to kill him.

After a long minute of surveying the two boys, one of them still half-embracing the other, Seabury retreats. He makes a scene of it, stalking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

‘That was stupid,’ Burr says, as soon as he’s out of sight.

‘All right, all right!’ Hamilton relaxes. ‘Could you let go of me now?’

‘Yes, sorry,’ He releases him. Only when they’re separated does he realise how warm the boy is.

‘Thanks,’ Hamilton says it grudgingly.

‘I didn’t do it for you. I did it for the poor cleaner who would have had to scrape your lifeless body out of the carpet.’

‘He wouldn’t have beaten me. Did you see that guy?’

‘Did you?’ Burr sighs. He seems to be doing it a lot lately. ‘Even if you had won, I don’t think the fleeting satisfaction would have been worth expulsion.’

‘They wouldn’t have expelled me, I got perfect marks at AS. Colleges want me to be the outlier on their performance charts.’

‘You do realise outliers aren’t counted?’

‘Um, guys?’ One of the girls on Burr’s table is in the doorway of the room. ‘History is cancelled today, Timothy just texted us.’

Burr hurries to confirm on his own phone. Yep, there’s the message. _No history today as I am ill. Please check your email for assigned reading. Timothy._

‘Well, damn,’ he says. He holds up his phone to confirm for Hamilton. The other boy deflates slightly.

‘What are we supposed to do now?’

That’s true mark of being a nerd, Burr reckons, when you’re disappointed to have a class cancelled.

‘Library?’ he suggests.

Hamilton perks up. ‘Library,’ he agrees.

They walk downstairs together, trying not to look like they’re skipping class. At the top of the staircase they come across a group of boys. Seabury is in the middle. Hamilton tenses, and without even thinking about it Burr’s hand shoots out to rest on his arm.

‘We could take him together,’ Hamilton says pleadingly. ‘Don’t tell me it wouldn’t be fun.’

‘Fun, yes. Pointless and trouble-inducing, also yes.’ He tugs Hamilton past. He never remembered becoming The Mom Friend™, but it seems to have happened regardless. He should start stacking his bag with band-aids and Kleenex. With great power and all that.

‘Do you _ever_ break rules?’ Hamilton practically whines the words.

‘I take a moment to consider. If it’s something Mulligan or Laurens would do, I don’t do it.’

‘I thought you liked them.’

‘I do _._ That doesn’t mean I always agree with them.’

They’re at the bottom of the stairs now. From there it’s not far to the library, which is surprisingly busy. Rather than cramming themselves in between other people, Hamilton and Burr head to one of the study rooms off the side.

‘If we’re doing the same thing, it counts as group work,’ Burr reasons.

‘Timothy emailed us the powerpoint and the relevant textbook chapters,’ Hamilton reports, looking up from his phone. ‘Seeing as we both have copies of the reading, I’ll answer the questions if you do general notes? We can compare afterwards and swap.’

It sounds like it will work, so Burr agrees. They set up the study room and get to work. It’s soon pretty clear that their styles are different enough to clash. Burr’s notes are tidy and soothing to look at: neatly laid out in colour coded columns and boxes. Hamilton’s, however, look as if each page was his last will and testament frantically scribbled onboard a ship being tossed around by a storm.

‘How do you read this?’ Burr asks, leaning over to look at a page.

‘Half the time I don’t,’ Hamilton admits. ‘Writing fast comes at a price.’

‘What does that say? _Reagan was_ …?’

‘A dick. I think I’ve got him down as a _pompous self-confident dick_ somewhere, but there isn’t always space for that.’

‘And insulting him helps you study?’

‘A surprising amount. Last year I did a thing with philosophers. I had post-its listing their key theories and beliefs as well as general comments on them.’

‘Huh.’ Burr did nearly the exact same thing, but he sorted areas of his bedroom wall by topic and under each heading had philosophers’ views. The post-its were colour coordinated of course.

When they actually get going, Hamilton is surprisingly efficient. Burr makes him type his notes for the sake of legibility, and together the two of them cover a lot of ground.

‘The problem with studying outside of class is that you get so much done it makes you question why you bother with the classes at all,’ Hamilton observes, as they swap places to copy down sections of each other’s notes. Even when typing, Hamilton can’t seem to control himself. He’s set it in 9 point Times New Roman with single line spacing and no gaps between paragraphs. It’s entirely possible that he’s just copying out the textbook word for word.

‘You don’t just go to classes for the materials, the teaching is valuable as well,’ Burr points out.

‘I used to bunk all the time in secondary. But I did all the work so that they couldn’t do much about it.’

‘What was the point of that?’

‘I didn’t have to be in class. If I had to listen to one more person say that Juliet was asking where Romeo was I would have slit my own throat with a sharpened pencil.’

‘Poetic.’

‘How did you cope with GCSE English? You’re smart.’

‘Thanks. I was allowed to do it early. Studied for one year, not two.’

‘What did you get?’

‘A*.’

‘Nice.’ He sounds genuinely appreciative. ‘How come you were able to do that? I wish I’d been allowed.’ He’s stopped typing now, both of them ceasing productivity to make conversation.

‘I was lucky. And my parents insisted on it.’

‘Did you do that for any other subjects or just English?’

‘All of them apart from maths. It was good.’ Burr feels weird talking about himself this way. It’s the sort of thing that could be easily misconstrued as boasting, though Hamilton’s ego is so big that he doubts anything he can say will make a dent in it.

‘Was that a common occurrence at your school?’

‘No, uh, I was the only one.’

‘Nice,’ he repeats.

‘So, you did _Romeo and Juliet_ for English?’ It seems like a good idea to prolong a conversation that so far hasn’t involved disagreements.

‘Yes. It was a pain at first but I got quite into it. What did you do?’

‘ _The Winter’s Tale._ ‘Exit, pursued by a bear’ and so on. I didn’t like English too much, if I’m honest.’

‘It doesn’t strike me as being your thing.’

‘What does?’

Hamilton considers. ‘Taking time over things. I bet you read the instruction manual before doing anything.’

‘Whereas you blunder ahead always insisting you know what you’re doing?’

‘You realise what this means?’ Hamilton goes mock solemn. ‘We’re going to have to add ‘build IKEA furniture’ to the list of things we should never do together.’

‘There’s a list?’

Hamilton shrugs. ‘I like lists.’

‘What else is on it?’

‘As of today, fighting crime. We’d look incredible in Spandex suits but it’s not going to work if hold me back from confrontation.’

‘Huh.’ Burr doesn’t really have a good answer to that. ‘Hey, what do you think of marches?’

‘Like protests? They’re cool. Why?’

‘There’s one happening in a few weeks.’ Lafayette was talking about it the other day, it’s only just sprung back into Burr’s mind. ‘It’s against racism. Or classism. I think the gist is that you go and complain loudly about the government.’

‘Are you going?’

‘Possibly. Washington invited us. He was an A2 student last year, he’s at UCL now.’

‘What’s he doing?’

‘Something political. He’s great, though, you’d like him.’

Hamilton considers. ‘I’d like to come,’ he says. ‘If I’m not intruding.’

‘All the guys will be going,’ Burr assures him, once he’s got over his momentary shock that Hamilton’s able to consider when he might be not wanted.

One of the librarians taps on the glass pane in the door, a reminder that what they’re in is a study room.

‘It’s not like we’re doing any harm by not being productive,’ Hamilton complains, reopening the Word document he’s working on.

‘These rooms have a reputation,’ Burr explains, pulling his own notebook towards him.

‘What, do people hook up in here?’

‘What? No! I meant that people chat and get food everywhere.’ Burr’s not usually flustered at the slightest mention of sex, but apparently it’s different when it’s Hamilton and not Mulligan doing it. In an effort to regain his cool, he adds, ‘People go to the second floor bathroom to hook up, it’s huge and unisex.’

Hamilton wiggles his eyebrows. It’s horrifically sleazy and makes Burr feel something strong that he’s fairly sure is revulsion. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

‘I have higher standards. I’m fairly sure you could catch something by just being there. Why? Have you ever fooled around in a school bathroom?’

‘No. It sounds like the sort of thing one should do before you die. Travel the world, see a Broadway show, have sex in a public convenience. Is your significant other not into that sort of thing?’

‘My what?’ Initially caught up in judging Hamilton’s bucket list, Burr almost misses the last part of the sentence. ‘I’m single.’

‘Really?’ Hamilton frowns. ‘Every time somebody makes a rude joke you don’t engage. I always thought it was because you were dating somebody.’

‘My relationship status hasn’t changed since the love of my life moved away in Year 11.’

‘Oh?’

‘Theodosia. We went out for six months and then her family decided to relocate to Yorkshire.’

‘I see.’ Hamilton suddenly seems to remember the work that up until this point he’s been merrily Not Doing. ‘Did you get all of this,’ he nods at the screen, ‘or should I email it to you?’

‘Email would probably be better.’ That’s a lie, it would be more efficient for both of them if he copied it down now, but this way he’ll get Hamilton’s email address. It might not be 2007 and he can contact Hamilton in half a dozen other ways but this feels like it will come in helpful.

He writes it down for Hamilton and gives it to him, adding, ‘If you want me to send photos of my notes, I can.’

Hamilton takes the paper with a smile. The moment is fleeting and soon forgotten as they resume working, but it is a Moment. And a confusing one, because despite all Burr’s complaining about Hamilton’s energy it’s undeniably awesome when it’s focused on you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is the same length as the previous two put together. I apologise thoroughly for the inconsistency and for not having an update schedule.
> 
> *Edit*: Again I don't seem to be making the education system very clear; so to reiterate. In Britain, college and university are different things; college means 'sixth form college' aka A Levels (As & A2). As these characters are in A2, they would all start the term aged 17 and turn 18 before the following September. Also, 'UCAS' is the organisation through which you apply to universities. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or come talk to me at betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she must have known, that statement cheers Hamilton right up. It’s weird to think how familiar they are with each other; Hamilton must have secrets that only Eliza knows. And despite their breakup, she’s still got to be the person in the room that Hamilton trusts most.

‘Does anybody have a black pen?’

‘Yes, but there’s only one and I’m still using it.’

‘Oh come on, that’s only outlining. You could use purple for that and nobody would ever know.’

‘And compromise the integrity of my sign? No thank you.’

‘Hey, where are you going with the glitter?’

‘If you looked at it would you be able to tell I’ve copied the _Percy Pig_ logo?’ Mulligan holds up his placard for scrutiny.

Burr tilts his head sideways. ‘I’m not sure. Will the people looking have a packet handy to compare?’

‘You could draw a pig body,’ suggests Eliza. ‘Add originality.’

‘Or glitter,’ Laurens offers. He’s said those words so many times today that they’re fast becoming his mantra.

‘Did somebody say glitter?’ On the other side of the room, Peggy has been hoarding all the sparkly supplies that Laurens doesn’t have. Burr’s reminded of a dragon with an obsession with neon colours.

He’s not actually sure why she’s here, aside from the lure of ‘borrowed’ craft supplies. The session was his idea; he’d responded to Lafayette’s message about preparing for the march by proposing that they stay behind after class and make posters. Somehow Eliza got involved – she and Hamilton spend a remarkable amount of time together for exes – and now Peggy is here too. She’s not as annoying as he thought she’d be, he’ll give her that and for the only AS student in the room she’s holding her own.

The downside is that all of them together is hardly a recipe for productivity; Laurens has been very blatantly Not Working and everyone’s taking frequent breaks to see how many mini ponytails can be made with Hamilton’s hair.

Burr’s more or less kept his head down and has two signs to show for it. He’s quite pleased with them, having gone for substance over style in choosing the simplest format possible. Some of the others have been more inventive: Mulligan has perfected bubble writing, Peggy’s resembles a disco ball and Lafayette is laboring over elaborate script that definitely won’t be legible. (He’s so proud of it that nobody can bring themselves to point this out.)

As far as supplies go, they’re relatively well stocked. Burr got them from the librarians – or rather, he mentioned that they were going to be making signs and was immediately presented with a box of markers, general materials and some orange pipecleaners that nobody’s very sure what to do with. So far one of them has been bent into the shape of a moustache (Peggy) and another into a penis (Laurens). It pays to be on good terms with the staff.

‘Pigs have curly tails, right?’ Mulligan is still conferring with Eliza on animal anatomy. ‘They always do in cartoons.’

‘I think they’re more small and straight. Like this.’ For somebody so soft-spoken and gentle she’s very eagerly assisting with his piggate sign. It isn’t the most hard-hitting of political points to make, but Burr won’t criticize the choice either. It’s bound to get a laugh.

‘Do we have any biros?’ Hamilton asks. He’s actually been quiet for the first time ever, concentrating on fitting a ton of tiny print onto his sign.

‘Look by the computer,’ Burr recommends, glancing at the placard. It looks like Hamilton’s written an essay. ‘You know, there is something to be said for being succinct.’

He’s not sure Hamilton even hears it. He’s gone in search of a biro, just as Eliza rejoins the table.

‘Advising him doesn’t work,’ she says. ‘Believe me, I’ve spent enough time trying.’

Burr laughs, a little awkwardly. ‘I’m starting to realize that. So are you and Peggy coming to the march?’

‘I wanted to, but we’ve got a family thing on. Peggy wants to skip it and I’m not letting her. It’s a shame, this would be a good one for her to go to.’

He nods, unsure of what else to say. Despite their being a good month into the term, he’s still not sure how to read Eliza. Angelica’s so critical and jokingly sour that he knows exactly where he stands. Eliza is just…nice. And he’s not used to nice.

Then again, Peggy is easily the most confusing Schuyler. She’s very clearly not an idiot, and yet she shines with such a bright naivety that either makes her seem young or Burr feel old. Two tables over, she makes a dick joke and Laurens is so surprised and delighted that he laughs for nearly five minutes solid.

‘I’m still not sure about this layout.’ The omnipresent fountain of problems pipes up again and Burr decides that his own posters are as done as they’re ever going to be. He writes _Property of Aaron Burr_ on the back and moves them on top of a cabinet and out of harm’s way.

‘What’s the issue?’

‘I don’t know how to arrange the text.’ Hamilton begins to explain the flaws in his inspiration. This is his fourth sign; he seems to have a very optimistic view of how many he can realistically carry.

Burr moves round to join him. They’re standing at the short end of a rectangular table, which doesn’t leave much of a gap for personal space. Reaching for pens, their forearms brush.

Through extensive negotiations they find a solution to the poster problem, which is rendered irrelevant when Lafayette bumps into the table and spills the one remaining tube of glitter glue all over it. It’s only on their table because Peggy had rejected the colour, which is a muddy brown. (‘It’s like somebody thought, what would make dog shit look better? I know, if it sparkled.’)

‘Sorry!’ Lafayette scrabbles to recover it and manages to spread the glue still further. Hamilton stares at his masterpiece sadly and Burr surveys what he’s just spent the last fifteen minutes on.

‘Oh no,’ Eliza says, sounding absolutely sincere until she continues, ‘you’ll have to make another one.’

As she must have known, that statement cheers Hamilton right up. It’s weird to think how familiar they are with each other; Hamilton must have secrets that only Eliza knows. And despite their breakup, she’s still got to be the person in the room that Hamilton trusts most.

‘It’s nearly six,’ Laurens reports. ‘They’ll be kicking us out soon.’

‘They might forget to,’ Mulligan opines. ‘I don’t think anyone else is on the third floor.’

‘We could stay in college overnight!’ Peggy looks up from where she’s sitting, cross-legged, on one of the tables.

‘We could, but we’re not going to,’ Eliza starts collecting pipecleaners, prompting everybody else to tidy up. It takes longer than it should, mostly because Peggy doesn’t believe that they should return all of the gel pens.

‘I still need to redo this,’ Hamilton nods at the ruined poster. ‘I can do it with my own stuff though, you guys can go. Um, Burr? Do you have ten minutes, or do you need to leave?’

Burr hesitates. The first one took forever, aligning Hamilton’s scrawled plan with something that’s actually legible. He’s under no obligation to help here.

‘It’s OK if you can’t,’ Hamilton adds quickly. ‘I only asked because your handwriting is a lot neater.’

‘Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll stay.’ It’s not like he has important homework anyway, it’s just that History chart that will take five minutes to fill in. ‘See you guys.’

The others file out, taking the supplies with them.

‘I’ll tell Angelica you said hi,’ Eliza calls over her shoulder. Burr gives her a thumbs-up.

‘Thanks, I appreciate this.’ Hamilton says, rooting around in his bag, producing a pencil and a navy blue pen.

‘You’re welcome,’ Burr replies, because the alternative of _no problem_ indicates that Hamilton can keep asking petty favours. If their past record is anything to go by, though, turns of phrase aren’t going to stop Hamilton.

His thoughts seem to be on the same subject. ‘I’m sorry to be constantly asking you,’ he says, as Burr begins a light sketch of the image that will be surrounded by lettering. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘My History homework.’

‘The essay? It’s due tomorrow, haven’t you – ’

‘I was kidding.’

‘Oh. I knew that.’

‘You don’t have to do anything, it’s fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Unless you’re able to remove Cameron from office and/or save the NHS, I’m sure.’

‘We could launch a hit squad on Downing St,’ Hamilton offers. ‘Or invite him to a charity bake sale and poison the cupcakes.’

‘Malice under the guise of innocence. I like it.’

‘Imagine the headline,’ he says joyfully. ‘ _Cupcake Cameron: PM brought down by Girl Scouts._ ’

‘Are you saying Girl Scouts because you don’t know how to make cupcakes yourself?’

‘I’m sure it’s not that hard. They’re like ordinary cakes but smaller.’

‘I think there is more to it than that.’ Done with the picture, Burr starts on the writing. He’s going to have to go over this in pen, a process he hates. Unfortunately in this case it’s the wisest thing to do.

Hamilton looks over his shoulder. ‘That looks great! I should hire you as my official sign maker.’

‘Depends what the sign is for. Perhaps Peggy and I could go into a joint business. She makes placards for happy celebrations like Pride. I do national funerals and remembrance parades.’

‘I didn’t think you were such a morbid person.’

‘Only on good days. How’s that?’

‘Perfect.’

‘OK.’ Burr looks up at him. ‘Now be quiet and let me get the rest done.’

 

Burr had forgotten that he and Mulligan live near the same tube station until he sees him on the platform. It makes sense that he didn’t remember: he takes the bus to college and that would be the only time that they’re travelling to the same place.

A few other people are scattered about the platform. Burr walks past a young man with two small daughters and an elderly couple having a stinking row about whether it will be quicker to only use trains or get off at Northolt and catch a bus.

‘Morning,’ he says, joining Mulligan. The guy’s holding a couple of signs under his arms and a first aid bag is slung over his back. Burr’s own small backpack appears somewhat small and pointless.

‘I don’t think it will get violent,’ Mulligan explains. ‘But hey, it could. Where are your signs? Or do you and Hamilton have joint custody?’

‘My ones are in my bag. I didn’t want them to get creased.’

‘Did Hamilton get his last one done?’

‘Yeah. Well, I did it. His handwriting is too angry.’

‘You can say that again.’

Unsatisfied with the tube map at their end of the platform, the angry couple marches past to inspect the one halfway along. Burr’s not sure whether they genuinely know that all the maps are identical or whether they’re being obstinate.

‘They’re in a good mood,’ Mulligan says quietly.

There’s a roaring sound from the tunnel and moments later a train hurtles into the platform so noisily that it temporarily renders conversation impossible. The good news is that the carriages are about half empty and the old couple is far enough away to get in a different one.

‘I have to say, I still prefer buses,’ Burr remarks, as they board the train and drop into adjacent seats.

‘The tube is quicker.’ Mulligan shrugs, recognizing the insignificance of the difference.

‘How’s stuff going?’ Burr asks, as the doors close and the train moves off. Ordinarily, standard tube etiquette would involve ignoring each other. He’ll make an exception today – he doesn’t have anything to read and there’s only so long you can spend staring at ads for tropical holidays and hair loss treatment.

‘Good. Started this weekend internship, it seems cool.’

‘What sort of internship?’

‘Costume production. There’s supposed to be some set building too, later on.’

‘That’s great.’ It’s occurred to Burr that outside of college, he doesn’t have much of an idea about what Mulligan likes. He certainly wouldn’t have imagined that Mulligan was into making costumes. Then again, the guy does spend a lot of time in the art department and people are surprising. 

‘So I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that your future is something political?’

'I'm predictable,' Burr admits. The train pulls into the next station and people start crowding in. His backpack is resting between his feet, he shifts it to avoid it being trodden on. Commuters are the most careless type of people.

He turns back to resume conversation with Mulligan, only to find the boy absorbed in a game of Candy Crush. Burr stares at him for a minute, inwardly lamenting the dependence of young people on technology before getting out his own phone and opening Angry Birds. There's something about having to strategize that he finds calming. He can imagine Hamilton conducting research to discover which out of a range of mindless apps are the most mentally stimulating. Angry Birds has to feature somewhere up there. In twenty years or so there's bound to be some great military commander who attributes their successes to his childhood deliberations over how best to utilize toucans.  

The two of them are so absorbed in the games that they almost miss the stop. Burr glances up by accident – somebody had brushed against his legs – and sees the name of the station. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he hits Mulligan's leg and calls at him to get up. 

Mulligan springs up and the two of them flee the train. Burr can feel the judgement of the assorted businesspeople burning into his back. _Teenagers, always in a hurry._  

From the station they emerge out onto the pavement. It's a mild day, the sky completely obscured by light grey clouds with a few darker ones on the horizon. Now and again a chilly breeze cuts through the warm air, a reminder that it’s October already. Hopefully Burr won’t regret his decision not to bring a raincoat. Mulligan, by comparison, is wearing trainers, shorts and a vest top. He looks like an athlete preparing for an event.

Being Central London, the streets are about as crowded as can be expected. They weave between shoppers and businesspeople. Here and there Burr catches sight of others also carrying banners and signs. A few minutes later he recognises a couple of Richard Rodgers staff; he and Mulligan duck behind a phone box as they pass by.  

'Good day for it,' Mulligan says, as they emerge from their hiding place.

'Don't jinx anything,' warns Burr, nodding to the darker clouds. He can’t tell if they’re getting closer or not. He can only hope that they aren’t. Marching in the rain isn't any fun at all: you get cold and soaked in minutes, the ink on your posters runs and everybody looks like a mess. Not to mention that everybody looks like drowned rats in photos, making the protesters look less like a legitimate group and more like an unorganized rabble.

They're a good way along the road when they hear somebody whooping. Sure enough, there's Laurens, with Hamilton and Lafayette with him. Mulligan waves and Hamilton returns the gesture.  

'The official meeting is a street away,' Lafayette says, when they’re close enough to hear. He's brandishing a cardboard sign that says _Atheist Supporting Muslims_ and has little French flags painted on his cheeks. Hamilton is clutching two of his signs and has given the other two to Laurens.

Laurens fist-bumps Mulligan and Hamilton nods hello.

‘We had to change trains twice,’ Laurens tells them. ‘First there was an accident and then we got on the wrong one.’

‘An accident?’ Burr swings his backpack off to extract his own signs. They’re mostly intact, the edges only slightly bent.

‘Something happened on another train,’ explains Hamilton. ‘We were still in the station so we could get off.’

‘That one wasn’t our fault,’ Laurens interjects. ‘And as for the other thing, it’s stupid that some stations have different lines on the same platform.’

They start walking again, now as a group.

‘Richard Rodgers teachers are here,’ Burr mentions.

‘We know,’ Lafayette says, in a tone of resignation. ‘They saw us.’

‘It was all right,’ Hamilton reasons.

‘Timothy made a joke about how all ‘we young people do’ is party and take drugs and told us not to make the demonstration look bad.’

‘It could have been worse.’

‘I wonder if Timothy parties.’

‘I think he’s a rave person,’ Laurens says seriously. ‘Beneath the calm and stiff exterior is a party animal.’

Burr grimaces. ‘Thanks for the mental image. Really could have lived without it.’

‘I didn’t even touch on his rampant sex life,’ Laurens sounds positively indignant.

‘Yes, and you’re never going to.’ Lafayette pauses. The crowd of people waiting for the march is big and scattered at the same time, so that they don't realise they've found it until they're in the middle of it. ‘We could wait here?’

‘Sounds good,’ Burr agrees, before anybody can raise complications.

It’s a far more interesting spot to wait than the rest of the street. People are handing out free signs – Isis ≠ Islam and _stop wars_ in the Star Wars font. A group of other young people are practicing chants and distributing lyric sheets and one girl is juggling. Burr’s not quite sure what juggling does to demand racial equality, though she seems to be having fun. Some people have even brought their kids, who chase each other through the crowd clutching their own signs.  

'How terrible, people imposing their views upon defenceless children,' Lafayette says. 'Terrible, truly.' 

‘Smile!’ Laurens produces his phone for pre-march selfies and Hamilton joins in enthusiastically. 

'It's a shame the Schuylers couldn't come,' Lafayette remarks, watching the two of them pull faces and admire themselves in Snapchat filters.  

‘They’d be good,’ Hamilton agrees. It’s unclear whether he’s talking about Eliza and Peggy or Angelica too.

‘Hey!’ Mulligan looks across to address somebody behind Burr. ‘Good to see you, man.’

Burr turns. Washington looks more or less how he did the last time they saw him, though he stands a little straighter and there are shadows under his eyes. Like before he’s dressed better than any of them, sporting a smart navy blue shirt and chinos of a warm red wine colour. When he was in A2 he’d looked like a university student, now he looks like he’s about to start up his own business.

‘Dude!’ Laurens goes in for a hug and Lafayette settles for a high five. Burr opts for a polite handshake. To an outsider, it probably looks like they’ve just been reunited with a celebrity with whom they are very familiar.

‘How’s it going?’ Washington asks, slinging his leather satchel off his shoulder and dropping it on the ground between his feet. It lands with a soft thump, indicating weight.

‘Not bad,’ Burr says. ‘How’s university?’

‘Like Heaven. If it was exhausting and educational.’ He smiles, in one gesture reverting to the charismatic self that won over so many people at Richard Rodgers. With the possible exception of Eliza Schuyler, Washington is the only person Burr’s ever met that _everybody_ liked.

‘This is Hamilton,’ Laurens adds, pointing in the way that polite children are told not to. ‘He transferred to Richard Rodgers at the beginning of A2.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Washington shakes his hand, still smiling.

‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Hamilton says, which both polite and sadly true. In the week leading up to this, Lafayette’s been reminiscing about the previous year and everything they accomplished under Washington’s tutelage. Nothing gets you missing a person like discussing in detail how good it was to have them around.

‘Just the good bits, I hope.’

‘Yes! And something Lafayette sparked my interest. He said you…’ Hamilton launches into one of his three-hour speeches and Burr’s attention starts to drift elsewhere. For a group of people gathered to yell things about the government and complain about everything, the crowd is in a very good mood. One of the people offering chant sheets walks past and he accepts one because it’s easier than saying no.

Hamilton stops for breath and Washington takes over, managing to respond to the points raised without coming across as rude. Even more magical is the fact that Hamilton lets him. Burr’s tempted to applaud.

Washington’s so much in demand, though, that he can’t devote attention to one person for very long. He’s barely finished his answer when Mulligan leaps in with a question about university, quickly followed by Laurens’ assurances of how much they all miss him.

‘These don’t even rhyme properly,’ Hamilton mutters, reading Burr’s chant sheet over his shoulder. He’s just tall enough so that he could rest his chin on the top of Burr’s shoulder if he wanted to, but some genuine sense of courtesy means that he hovers instead. ‘If you’re going to protest you should do it properly.’

‘The point is that they’re angry, not that they’re linguistically clever,’ Burr points out.

‘Context doesn’t mean that you can abandon metre altogether. The first line of the top one has seven beats and the next one has four. And then,’ he scans, ‘three. It’s a mess.’

‘Feel free to make up your own slogans, then.’ Burr steps away, folding the sheet and putting it in his pocket.

‘It looks like it’s happening,’ Mulligan reports, using his height to his advantage to examine the crowd. ‘People are moving, right at the far end. Oh nope, they’re going to feed a pigeon.’

‘It’s supposed to start right about now.’ Laurens is getting steadily more hyped.

‘Doesn’t mean it will. Oh hey, they are moving.’ Mulligan’s enjoying his position as commentator. ‘The pigeon was a distraction.’

Everyone around them starts to consolidate their things. Washington picks up his satchel, Hamilton reorganizes his signs and a buzz of anticipation passes through the crowd. Burr checks his phone, puts it into his trouser pocket and makes sure his rucksack is sitting comfortably against his back. Normally he’s a shoulder-bag type of person, he’s making the exception in this case because he’ll be carrying it for ages.

‘Come on!’ Hamilton hops off the curb, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

‘Boy’s right,’ Washington says. ‘Let’s go protest.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes this took a long time coming. And is half the length of the previous chapter. I'm very sorry about both. The good news is that the next chapter is all written and only needs editing, so it should go up in the next couple of days.
> 
> British things: The NHS stands for the National Health Service, which basically means that through taxation for everybody people who do need health care get it for free. It's one of the great parts of Britain and unfortunately has faced repeated cuts thanks to our conservative government.
> 
> This march is more or less based off one I've been on - protests are fairly regular in London, but they do tend to be organised events so not too much of the city gets disrupted.
> 
> If you liked it or have any questions, write a comment or come talk to be at betweentheheavesthestorm.tumblr.com!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘You should have a smoothie on your eye,’ says Burr, realizing a beat later how bizarre the sentence would sound out of context.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some violence, mention of blood

There’s something satisfying about walking out into the main road and having right of way. Yet at the same time it feels intrinsically wrong. Despite being surrounded by people doing exactly the same as he is, Burr can’t shake the idea that he’s going to get in trouble or will be run over.

The latter is not likely to happen anytime soon; the police have stopped the traffic just behind them. The horns of frustrated taxi drivers are blaring and a couple of buses sit apathetically, completely unable to move. He feels a stab of sympathy for them; he’s wasted enough of his own life on a bus stuck in traffic to be able to pity others in the same predicament.

Even in the twenty minutes that they were waiting, the size of the crowd has swelled and now he couldn’t count the numbers if he wanted to. People seem to be everywhere to the point where he can’t see where the group ends. Now that they’re going it’s also harder to keep track of his friends. You’d think if everybody was walking in a line together it would be easy to stay close, but that isn’t the case. He makes a conscious effort to keep a note of where Mulligan is; the guy’s a head taller than everyone else and where he is Laurens and Lafayette are sure to be nearby.

As for Hamilton, he’s fallen in step with Washington and the two of them are conversing rapidly. Hamilton’s got a smile too big for his face – Burr only sees it for a moment and yet it leaves him with a strange feeling, as though something’s clicked inside of him. From Hamilton his eyes drift to Washington, who’s just as happy. In fact, he seems to be in a better mood than he was for most of the summer.

The pleasant feeling in Burr’s stomach evaporates suddenly. He’s glad that Hamilton’s doing well, he’s even slightly proud of him. And yet, try as he might, Burr can’t quite suppress the faintest flicker of jealousy that _he’s_ never held Washington’s interest so easily.

It’s not something he ought to dwell on, so he makes a conscious effort to concentrate on other things. His arms are already starting to ache from holding the signs up, so he lowers them slightly to give the muscles a rest.

They’re walking along the main street now, shops and increasingly older buildings on each side. Burr’s never liked London as an abstract concept, and yet when he’s out in it he suddenly feels very fond. It’s something about the patchwork nature of the architecture, exhibiting buildings from differing periods that really hits home the reality of how long the city’s been here. He’s seen plenty of old paintings and photographs, documenting how everything was, but it’s only when he’s out in it that he can get his head around the fact that it was really like that once, in glorious Technicolour for all those who saw it.

From thinking about London he moves on to trying to get himself in photos. Various photographers are grouped along the sidelines, ranging from top newspapers to school magazines. By edging horizontally through the crowd and holding his placards in plain view, Burr figures he should end up in a couple of photos.

Vanity’s sufficiently distracting so that it’s a good ten minutes before he looks back to his friends. Washington has drifted off, having seen somebody else he knows and leaving Hamilton to march alone. A couple of metres ahead of him they can all hear Laurens begging to be allowed to sit on Mulligan’s shoulders.

Hamilton seems content to be by himself, so Burr stays where he is. He isn’t watching Hamilton, not really, though he does notice when somebody compliments the sign they made together. Hopefully it’s the tidy presentation and neat handwriting that drew attention to it and not the mini dissertation on the subject of refugees. Hamilton sees him looking and catches his eye; Burr hurriedly turns away and sweeps the pavement to see if anyone else is taking photos. He doesn’t see any cameras, though the number of people standing and watching has increased. Some are bemused, some interested.

Some are angry.

He doesn’t see the protestors on the edge of the street until they’re right in front of him. A fair group – between twenty and thirty people – are massed on the pavement, shouting at the marchers and in some cases elbowing their way onto the road.

He’s seen people causing trouble at demonstrations before, yet not with truly malicious intent. Most of the time they just stare in disgust or hurl the odd insult, but this is different. An uncomfortable mood is settling between the marchers and the protestors that feels like it could easily escalate into something worse.

In his desire to get away from Hamilton, he’s ended up right on the outskirts of the group. It’s no longer a desirable place to be. He tries to drift back to the safety of the middle, but finds his way blocked. Everyone has chosen this moment to close ranks, with the additional effort of removing his friends from his sightline. It’s been a little while since he could see Washington, and now even Mulligan’s broad shoulders aren’t visible.

Burr turns his head back towards the group protesting. They’re getting steadily more abrasive, deliberately raising the tension just to prove that they can. He’s worried about what they’re going to do, about what they’re going to make the marchers do. He’ll defend himself if he needs to, but he really doesn’t want to become an example of how campaigners are inherently violent.

Somebody snaps. It’s one of the young men, immature enough to throw their weight around and old and strong enough that their doing so needs to be taken seriously. They’re actively shoving people over and some are throwing punches. The police escort that previously had the task of keeping traffic and people away has vanished, leaving nobody to restore order.

It’s getting quite claustrophobic; the road is narrowing, forcing everyone closer together. Burr can taste fear, cold and bitter at the back of his throat. He tries to slip back through the crowd, back to his friends, but finds himself on the wrong side of a wall of people. There isn’t even the option to be cowardly and hide behind anyone else, nothing and no one stands between him and the attackers.

Heart in his mouth, he turns to face them. Better to be able to see what’s coming, to at least make an effort to walk along as though nothing’s wrong and do his hardest not to get singled out. A braver person might be trying to help others, but he doesn’t even try to kid himself about his chances. Compared to everyone else he’s small and ineffective and the best thing for everybody is if he doesn’t get involved.

Someone else has other plans. He sees them a heartbeat before they hit him, just long enough to realise it’s him they’re coming for. The man – because he is a man, an adult, and Burr is only seventeen – pushes his shoulder back and before Burr can regain his balance he feels a sharp blow to the bottom of his face, on his jawline.

He doesn’t register falling. It must happen, because suddenly the world has tilted sideways and his face is pressed into the gravel of the gutter. Everything is grey and blue down here and he can taste blood at the back of his throat. Time has slowed down, or perhaps that’s just his brain, trying to compensate for the things that were too fast to process.

There’s a pressure on one of his hands – somebody must have stepped on it. He really should get up and get going, but he still can’t move. A part of him doesn’t _want_ to move. Perhaps if he stays still enough people will forget about him and he can enjoy the lopsided view of London in peace.

An outside force takes hold of his right hand and pulls him up. He stumbles, unable to get his legs back under him in time, and an arm swoops under his armpits to hold him up. For the second time things are moving too quickly for him to see, and yet Burr recognises the body next to him. He couldn’t say how, only that he does, and the shock starts to ebb away and relief takes its place.

‘Are you all right?’ Hamilton asks. Through some magic determination he’s managing to stride through the chaos without being noticed, half-dragging half-carrying Burr with him.

‘I think so.’ Burr’s still dizzy. It’s the same feeling as when you stand up too fast and get a head rush, only it doesn’t go away after the first few seconds.

‘You do know the side of your face is bleeding?’

‘It is?’ He raises a hand to check it. Sure enough, his fingers come away wet. ‘Must have happened when I hit the ground.’

‘Did they hit you? Or just push you over?’

Five more strides and they’re away from everyone, down a cobbled side street. Hamilton slows his pace and Burr takes a few steadying breaths. His right hand is still clutching Hamilton’s; he tries to let go and discovers that his fingers refuse to move.

‘Yes,’ he says, in answer to the question. His free hand drifts back to his head, to his jaw. It’s definitely tender and in a while it will probably be swollen too. ‘Mind if we…’

He stops walking. Hamilton does too, awkwardly removing his arm so that Burr can stand under his own steam. There’s a moment when they’re standing separately and their hands are still together. Burr quickly detaches his, avoiding the other boy’s gaze.

‘I can’t believe this,’ Hamilton says, furious. Burr leans against a lamppost. By some miracle he’s still got his backpack. This is a nice street, he decides. There are a couple of overpriced vintage shops and a jeweler’s. It’s also remarkably empty for somewhere so close to a main road.

‘They were just _attacking people_.’ Hamilton is shaking, his hands balling into fists. He looks like he wants to fight the entire crowd. ‘Assault. In broad daylight. How can they – ’

‘It’s going to rain.’ Burr’s been staring skywards at the soft grey clouds that are so much darker than they were the last time he looked. He stretches out a hand and is rewarded almost immediately with a drop of water.

‘The police were with us before and they just _disappeared_. What happened to protecting the public? And freedom of expression? How can we have any faith in a system if we can’t object to it without getting beaten up?’ Hamilton’s still ranting.

‘I didn’t get _beaten up_ ,’ Burr corrects him. ‘I got hit. The former implies more extensive injuries. And it’s probably a good thing the police weren’t there.’ It’s not something he ever thought he’d say, and yet now he believes it.

‘ _What?’_

‘If they had they might have arrested everybody there, including us.’

Hamilton’s outrage drains away all at once, leaving him looking wearied and suddenly older. Or perhaps he’s just distracted by the steady trickle of blood that’s still making its way down Burr’s face.

‘We should so something about that,’ he says, gesturing. As if cued to do so, the raindrops start getting heavier and more frequent until they’re pouring down onto the street and bouncing up off the cobbles. Water runs down the back of Burr’s jumper and makes him shiver.

‘I think there’s a café along there,’ Hamilton nods to the end of a street. ‘A Costa or a Starbucks or something.’

‘Yes, fine.’

Doing their best to avoid the fast-forming puddles, they hurry down the street. Rainwater is mixing with the blood on Burr’s face, dripping onto his jumper. It’s going to be a pain to get out.

The café at the end of the street is neither of the chains Hamilton mentioned, but a Pret. That isn’t really important though, not compared to it being a place that’s bright and dry and devoid of anyone that might try to hit him. They walk past the queue and Burr wonders why people are staring until he remembers the mess that he is. Funny, that he should be here with Hamilton and yet still be the centre of attention.

Hamilton. He’s replaced his anger with a strange efficiency, sitting Burr down in a corner booth and going off to buy to justify their presence. It’s almost as if he’s being responsible, something so utterly unlike him that it’s difficult to understand.

Sitting on a soft bench with the wooden back to support him, Burr’s alone with his thoughts for the first time. It’s only now sinking in that Hamilton’s done more than drag him to safety. He came after him. Saved him, if one’s to be dramatic. It’s what decent human beings are supposed to do, and yet Hamilton’s never seemed like a person in that sense. Certainly, Burr would never have imagined that he’d be owing him one day.

‘Hey,’ the boy in question reappears at the table, carrying two violently orange smoothies and a stack of paper napkins. ‘They’re mango,’ he says about the drinks, correctly interpreting Burr’s confusion.

‘Oh.’

‘Here, hold it to your face, should help with the swelling.’

‘Thanks.’ Burr contemplates asking how Hamilton’s so blasé about basic first aid. He doesn’t, after realizing that it’s possible he’d rather not know the answer.

‘Did you get hit anywhere else?’ Abandoning his own drink, Hamilton moves to Burr’s side of the booth. He takes a paper napkin from the top of the pile and with surprising care begins dabbing at the blood on Burr’s face.

‘I can take care of myself,’ Burr reminds him, and edge creeping into his voice.

‘Do you have a mirror? And are you any good at stopping bits of paper getting stuck in it?’ Hamilton shakes his head and keeps going. ‘Tissues are the worst for this.’

There are times in his life when Burr would fight more than this. Today is not one of them. He’s in no shape to argue and shocking as it may be, Hamilton actually is pretty good at what he’s doing. He’s being firm and consistent and gentle all at the same time, his tongue pushed out between his teeth as he concentrates.

It’s a good thing too, as Burr’s starting to feel the pain. Thanks to the mango smoothie, his jaw is pleasantly numb, but the cut is stinging something terrible. In an effort to distract himself, he looks down at Hamilton.

His face is screwed up in concentration, framed by the shoulder length hair that’s falling down free from its usual ponytail. It’s only at these close quarters that Burr notices the faint bruising around his left eye socket.

The realization dawns on him and he flinches back. As movements go it’s not terribly violent, but enough so that Hamilton stops.

‘Are you OK? Did I hurt you?’

‘You got hit,’ Burr says. It seems stupidly obvious now; how else could Hamilton have got to him so quickly?

Hamilton shrugs, confirming it with the absence of a denial. ‘Same guy that went for you. Ugly dude.’

‘What happened?’ Until now Burr’s assumed that Hamilton saw him on the ground and came to his aid. He’s not sure he can manage being even more in debt.

‘I saw you, I saw him, I was hit and I hit back.’ Hamilton sounds embarrassed. ‘Anybody would have done it.’

 _Not everybody could have_ , Burr might say, but that feels like dangerous territory. He goes for the safer, ‘Are _you_ all right?’

‘Yes. Can I finish?’ He holds up the tissue.

‘You should have a smoothie on your eye,’ says Burr, realizing a beat later how bizarre the sentence would sound out of context.

‘I’ve had worse. I’ll ice it in a minute. Do you want to get blood over everything?’

Burr sighs, and surrenders. Hamilton resumes dabbing. It’s a curious situation that they’re in, and not because they’re both injured. Hamilton’s riled up, but it’s about personal things and not a greater injustice. If he’s a wildfire most of the time, right now he’s something smaller and tamer, that you could warm yourself by without getting burned.

‘Oh hey,’ Hamilton’s brow furrows. ‘Small problem. There’s a bit of gravel. I say a bit, it actually looks like a mutant chunk. Isn’t gravel usually meant to all be the same shape? It probably depends where you get it from – ’

‘Wait,’ Burr interrupts. ‘Gravel, in my head?’

‘I would say embedded,’ Hamilton says. ‘Stuck but removable.’

‘Can you get it out?’

He considers. ‘I think so. It might hurt.’

‘Take it out,’ Burr tells him. ‘If we leave dirt in it could get infected.’

‘I’m not a surgeon,’ Hamilton warns, getting a fresh paper napkin and a thin wooden stirring-stick.

‘I’m not asking you to stitch it.’ For all his insistence, Burr’s not sure that asking Hamilton to dig at an exposed wound with café supplies is the best idea. Still, his common sense is urging him to get the cut as clean as possible and so far Hamilton’s been doing well.

‘You can tell me to stop,’ Hamilton adds, slowly moving towards the gash again. Burr can feel it the moment he makes contact, the pain of a blunt instrument prodded however gently onto the broken skin. It _does_ hurt, and for a moment he thinks about calling it off and waiting for somebody with more medical expertise to take over. Then some kind of pride takes over and he clenches one hand into a fist and waits.

It hurts even more a minute later, when Hamilton’s starting to dig the gravel out. Burr tries to keep his head as still as possible, aware that he’s unable to hide his grimace.

‘Mind if I?’ Hamilton lifts his free hand to hold the other side of Burr’s head, steadying himself as much as his patient. Though he’s held in place more rigidly than before, it’s actually quite relaxing. Burr stares unseeingly through the café and concentrates on the warm palm resting against his other cheek.

‘Gotcha!’ The sting increases and then there’s a sudden lightness as the gravel is flicked away. Out of the corner of his eye, Burr sees it land, small and bloody, on the tabletop.

‘You all right?’ Hamilton leans back and offers the last napkin. ‘It’s bleeding again, but you can probably manage.’

Grateful, both for the help and the return of his autonomy, Burr accepts.

‘It’s only shallow,’ Hamilton adds, sliding back to his own side of the booth. ‘Probably won’t scar.’

‘Good to know.’ Burr lifts the iced drink away from his face and sips it. He’s not usually one for smoothies, and hasn’t drunk anything through a straw for years. It’s a surprise to discover that he doesn’t mind. The smoothie is refreshingly cold and unlike a lot of fruit beverages actually does taste as what it’s advertised to be. ‘This isn’t bad.’

‘The chocolate ones are good too,’ Hamilton raises his own straw to his mouth and drinks. ‘But I wasn’t sure what you’d like, and mango’s usually a safe bet.’

‘Again, thanks. What do I owe you?’

‘It’s fine.’

‘No, seriously. You’ve already done enough, I can pay for my own exorbitantly priced smoothie.’

‘They’re £2.99,’ Hamilton says, ‘it’s no big deal.’

‘Exactly, so I don’t mind – ’

‘How about this,’ he interrupts. ‘If you reimburse me, it undermines the charitable action of my getting it in the first place thus hurting my feelings.’

‘If you insist.’ Burr smiles tightly. He’s only just noticing the people at tables nearby, some of which are casting strange looks across at him. ‘How’s your eye?’

‘It’s OK. I can pass it off as a fashion statement.’

‘And my face? How does that look?’

‘Good. I mean, you know, fine.’ Hamilton waves his phone. ‘Just got a text from Laurens, they’re all right. Didn’t see much of the fighting and have now gone to Starbucks. I think we’ve got the moral high ground.’

‘We do?’ It’s strange to hear the two of them referred to as a _we_ when their other friends become _them._

‘We’re not the ones sipping frappuccinos. I'll tell them we're all right,' he continues, tapping out a text. 'So does this happen a lot at protests you go to?' 

'It's never happened to me before. I don't think I've seen it on this scale. But you do hear about it. Kind of makes you think that marching does more harm than good.' 

A frown creases Hamilton’s face. 'Do you really think that?' 

'I don't know. Sometimes?' His jaw is aching again. He reapplies the half-full smoothie cup. 'You don't achieve anything by shouting. The real changes happen from the inside.' 

'But if you don't shout, then nothing gets said at all. Why come to these protests if you don't care?' 

'I do care. And this is all I can do right now, so I'll do it.'  

Hamilton seems to accept that. 'Washington's really cool. How long have you known him?' 

'Since April last year. We helped him photocopy some election fliers and accidentally befriended him.' Burr tries not to sound too possessive. 'He's a good guy.' 

'Yeah, he seems it. I lost the sign, by the way, I'm sorry.' 

'What?' 

'The sign we made. Well, you made. You did most of the work. I lost it in the scuffle.' 

'I lost mine too.’ Burr’s only just realized this, and hopefully avoids letting on. ‘Bigger picture considered, it's really not a problem.'  

'I just meant - since I asked you to do it again, and then I lose it anyway.' 

'Given what you've done for me, I'd say we're at least even.' Not sure what next to say, he turns his head to look out of the far window. Rain is still pouring against and running down the glass in a steady rhythm that's pleasant to listen to. Outside, the stylish autumn outfits have disappeared under black jackets and raincoats.

Hamilton follows the line of his gaze. 'Do you think it's worth making a run for it, or should we wait and see if it blows over?' 

Burr takes a moment to think it over. The appeal of home is quite strong, then again he’s not exactly unhappy right now. 'Wait,' he says. 'We’ve already been soaked once.’ His jaw is nice and cold again, so he removes the cup and resumes drinking the smoothie. He's stopped noticing the fruit element so much as the chill and is beginning to wish that his insides were a bit warmer.

'You make a good point.' Hamilton must notice the goose bumps rising on Burr's arm, because he adds, 'D'you want a hot drink?' 

It's a nice thought. He’ll buy this one himself. It's going to be annoying to waste another three pounds on a coffee in addition to what he owes Hamilton, but then again the universe owes him something good. 

He gets up. 'Would you like one?' 

'No thanks, I'm not in a coffee mood.’

The queue up to the counter runs adjacent to the sandwich display. Burr's aware that there are marketing reasons behind this: what better way to convince somebody to buy lunch than to make them wait next to a range of paninis and baguettes? Yet he can't help resenting it, for no reason other than it's making him very hungry and he'll be damned if he spends _all_ his money in this damned shop.  

(The brie and tomato baguettes are delicious, he's had them a couple of times before. He orders himself to walk on past and hit up a Tesco on the way home.) 

Finally at the counter, he orders a latte for himself and a hot chocolate for Hamilton. It's the lamest of petty comebacks and may be rejected. He can try, at least. The barista gives him a Look. He thinks that they think he's on a coffee date, until he remembers the injuries. At least they look better than they did.

The five minutes he spends waiting for the drinks he uses to check his own phone. It's only Hamilton's texting that reminded him of everyone else. He's got five messages, two from Mulligans demanding where he is and three from Laurens. Laurens’ messages read:

 _Duude shit are u ok??? Ham said u were hurt_  

 _We r gonna fuck them up_  

 _Ive just been informed im not allowed 2 fuck them up but were doing it in spirit. Washington says hi._  

It's his way of showing that he cares. Burr sends back, _Yeah I'm OK, hi Washington, you lot staying out of the rain?_  

'Hot chocolate and latte?' The barista puts the drinks on the counter. Burr collects them, enjoying the warmth of the cardboard, and takes them back to the table.

'I hope you like hot chocolate,' he says, placing the cup in front of Hamilton, who looks up from a game of _Angry Birds_ and sighs.

‘I said you didn’t owe me.’

‘Consider this another gesture.’ Burr resumes his old seat, sipping his own drink. He should really branch out more, lattes are the only coffee he’s ever ordered from Pret and when it really comes down to it he’s not that fond of them. Habit goes a long way.

The first drops scald his mouth, a horrible sensation that for some reason he enjoys. The liquid burns its way down to his stomach, warming his insides, and he feels considerably better.

Hamilton accepts the drink with a huff that conveys both gratitude and frustration. 'You didn’t have to do this.’

‘Out of the things that neither of us _had_ to do, buying you a drink is hardly the most extreme.’

‘I’ll get you a coffee after college sometime.’

‘And suck us into a never-ending loop of owing each other things? Forgive me, but I would rather not.’ Burr returns to his coffee. There are lots of thank-yous he could give to Hamilton, the foremost being his gratitude at having restored control. That was the most terrifying part of the fighting, the realisation that nobody was pulling the strings and anything could happen. Rollercoasters aren’t scary because they are designed not to crash, whereas this could have flown off the rails at any moment.

And it did, if one’s to think about it properly. Burr got derailed and Hamilton caught him and somehow made things OK. Not perfect, not even fixed, just OK enough that Burr knows how to go on from here.

God, Hamilton's such an arsehole.

Burr looks back across the table. He’s started talking again.

It's probably compulsory for Hamilton to talk; he might get an aneurysm if he's silent for more than thirty seconds. Maybe a minute, if somebody else is speaking. Right now he’s rambling on about the advantages of independent coffee shops vs chains. So far he’s weighed up the comfort of knowing exactly what they sell and how much against the support of local businesses.

Burr makes a valiant effort not to criticize and lasts for a few minutes before cutting in. If talking is Hamilton’s thing, finding faults is his. Should they ever manage to construct an argument together, he suspects it will be bulletproof.

'That won't work, though,’ he says, today. ‘At least half of café transactions must be to go, so you need to factor in that people are in a hurry and aren't likely to go out of their way.' 

'I don't believe there's any huge difference in location. And local places are _personal,_ you see the same people every day and it turns a general transaction into an interaction. Chains hire and fire people here and there and none of them care about the business beyond getting paid.’

'You overestimate how sentimental people are. When they're already late for work and need their shot of caffeine they're not in the mood to bond and make friends.' 

'So you support big businesses ruining the environment and pushing local people out of the market?' Hamilton purses his lips. The bruising around his eye is really starting to show now, blossoming into a bright purple that’s painful to look at. Burr tries to focus on the other side of his face.

‘Can I?’ a waitress with a tray full of dirty dishes pauses next to their table, nodding at the empty smoothie cups.

‘Oh, sure. Thanks.’ Burr hands them to her. He waits until she’s on the other side of the shop to lean forward and hiss, ‘Perhaps this isn’t the best conversation to have in a chain café.’

Hamilton shrugs, unabashed. 'They know they're evil.' 

'Be that as it may, complaining about it when they could very easily evict us into the rain isn't what I would call wise.’

'It's not raining.' 

Burr looks. It isn't. Sometime during their last conversation the rain has stopped and the sun has come out. Tentative beams shine through the wet window and make the raindrops sparkle.

'Huh,' he says. 

'D'you wanna go find the others?'

'I think I might go home.' His head is now hurting in two places and he's not sure he could survive one of Mulligan's hugs, even if the guy does have a bag full of medical supplies. Too bad he wasn’t with them when they needed them.

‘Of course! I’ll walk you to the station.’ Hamilton stands up so fast that he bangs his knee on the underside of the table. _'Ouch_.'  

‘Thanks, but I’m all right.’ Burr rises slowly, gulping down the last of his coffee. He retrieves his bag from the space next to him and hoists it onto his back.

‘We’ll be going the same way anyway,’ Hamilton reasons. They leave the Pret together, halting to bin the disposable cups. Adding to landfill, Burr thinks. Today hasn’t been a good day for anyone.

Yet when they step outside, he’s astonished to find that he’s in a good mood. The rain has swept past, leaving everything smelling fresh and new and even treading in a puddle can’t dampen his spirits. Hamilton’s practically doing a Tigger impression, bounding along next to him. Burr has a fleeting mental image of the boy in heelies, which he hastily suppresses. 

‘We should do this again,’ Hamilton says. ‘The café part, not the getting pounded on part. We could bring work or something.’

Burr nods, before quite thinking about what he’s agreeing to. It’s all right though, Hamilton’s distracted by his phone again.

‘Lafayette says they’re in St James’ Park. It sounds like they’re chasing pelicans.’

‘That will end well.’

‘Can you get arrested for attacking birds?’

‘I meant for them. Fifty pence says at least one of them ends up in the pond. You can go, the bus stop is along there.’ He points.

‘Are you sure you’re all right? I don’t mind – ’

‘I’m fine. Thanks for your help.’ Burr claps him on the shoulder, and turns to walk hastily in the other direction. He suspects that this is the wrong way to the tube station and he’s actually going to need to circle the block, but his point is made. After twenty paces, he glances back over his shoulder. For once, Hamilton has heeded his words; he’s nowhere in sight.

It’s been a very weird day. Burr would kill for a nap and a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This chapter was up a little later than expected, but hopefully the wait wasn't too long. All the content was written when I posted chapter 4, but I still had 1,000 words or so of edits to make.
> 
> Since I'm technically not at college these weeks I should be writing more, but let's see how that goes.
> 
> If you enjoyed it or have any questions, I'd love to hear from you in a comment or ask at betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Aaron Burr coming to me with drama,’ Angelica sighs. ‘Maybe today’s a good day for lottery tickets.’

Burr doesn’t do a lot on Sunday morning. His parents are home, so his breakfast and tea is disrupted by round two of _are you sure you feel all right_ with a touch of _this Hamilton boy sounds very nice, I’m glad you have good friends_. He lets them fuss, half-exasperated and half enjoying the attention.

When they’ve finally exhausted their reserve of parental concern (conveniently forgetting that he will be eighteen in February, with all the powers and responsibilities of an adult) he retreats to his room to finish all the homework that didn’t get done on Saturday. There isn’t much, and truth be told most of it is his pedantic need to be at least a week ahead with the prescribed readings.

(It’s a system Angelica has deemed completely unnecessary during a detailed and heated debate about study methods. Somehow during all her criticisms of him he never discovered what technique she uses. He doesn’t think he’s ever _seen_ her study – as opposed to last year, when she lived in the library – and yet she’s always fully up to date on the week’s topic. If they were in the same class it might be easier; as it is his only strategy is to keep an eye out for her whenever he’s in the canteen or passing any secluded stairwells.)

Done with the reading, Burr falls back onto his bed clutching his phone and wondering if it will be excessive to have a nap. He hasn’t been this tired on a Sunday since AS, and he suspects this won’t be the last time.

The unmistakable _ping_ of Facebook Messenger cuts through the silence. He unlocks his phone and is pleasantly surprised to see that the message is from the one person who’s unlikely to make his life more complicated.

**Angelica Schuyler:** Hey, you all right?

 

He rolls over onto his stomach, propping his torso up on his elbows. It would be much easier to conduct a conversation on his laptop, but he really can’t be bothered.

**Aaron Burr:** You heard, then.

Yes, I’m all right

 **Angelica Schuyler:** What happened? I got a version from Peggy, which she got from Eliza and Eliza got from Hamilton

I’m not saying details changed but I don’t think anybody’s shirt came off at any point?

 **Aaron Burr:** Dear lord, no

No clothes were lost

Some guys were causing trouble and hitting people, which because I’m lucky happened to include me

Hamilton stepped in & we got away

 **Angelica Schuyler:** So you’re leaving me to figure out the middle ground between the soap opera Peggy described and your Extremely Brief and Emotionless version?

 **Aaron Burr:** Yes

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Great

 **Aaron Burr:** Probably a good thing that Peggy wasn’t there.

Or does she have secret ninja skills?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** haha no

Or if she does they’re REALLY secret because we don’t know

I don’t think she’d be into that sort of fighting anyway

 **Aaron Burr:** This is something you’ve considered?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Not in depth

But if I had to make an informed judgement I’d say Peggy would throw heavy things at people

 **Aaron Burr:** Well, there weren’t many heavy things to hand.

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Mm. We had grandparents visiting.

 **Aaron Burr:** How was that?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Usual jokes about the family resemblance. How was the march, assault and battery aside?

 **Aaron Burr:** It was all right

Could have been better

Good to see Washington, though

 **Angelica Schuyler:** George Washington?

 **Aaron Burr:** Do you know him?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Not really. I know OF him

He’s at uni now, right?

 **Aaron Burr:** Yes

He was very taken with Hamilton

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Who isn’t?

 **Aaron Burr:** You?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Touché.

It is annoying, ‘cause Eliza’s friends with him again I still hear about him

There are only so many times you can hear about somebody’s brilliant insights, you know?

 **Aaron Burr:** Believe me, I do

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Of course, you hang out with his fan club

 **Aaron Burr:** They’re known to worship other things occasionally

 **Angelica Schuyler:**?

 **Aaron Burr:** That was going to be a joke about gin or something but I don’t think it was going to work

 **Angelica Schuyler:** oh

I saw photos of the fighting. You weren’t in them

 **Aaron Burr:** The press didn’t immortalize my humiliation?

I’m shocked

 **Angelica Schuyler:** I’m offended on your behalf

 **Aaron Burr:** Thank you. Though perhaps it’s good that I didn’t make headlines

My parents made enough of a fuss

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Angry?

 **Aaron Burr.** No

Worried

Justifiably so, there were bruises and blood

 **Angelica Schuyler:** How bad were you hurt?

 **Aaron Burr:** I exaggerate. A twat punched me and I grazed my face

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Was that the twat Peggy’s insisting Hamilton saved you from?

 **Aaron Burr:** …

 **Angelica Schuyler:** I’ll take that as a yes

 **Aaron Burr:** He was conveniently there

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Sure

The march annoyed my step-aunt, btw. It was funny

She’s not a blood relative, and well

She isn’t popular either

We got a whole minute into her ‘young people think they’re entitled to everything’ speech until Peggy went ‘so annoying we couldn’t go! But the boys took glitter so I’m there in spirit!’

 **Aaron Burr:** Wow

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Eliza had to distract her with biscuits. It worked until our mum wanted to know who ‘the boys’ were, and was Peggy in a gang?

 **Aaron Burr:** Did you explain that she was merely referring to a group of lame but enthusiastic nerds?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** I did

Peg was quite offended that I belittled her reputation

 **Aaron Burr:** Haha

In seriousness, though, if it’s not violent you should come to the next protest

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Maybe

 **Aaron Burr:** We could have the full Schuyler trio making signs

 **Angelica Schuyler:** I was going to help you guys the other day, but then I had a date instead and I wasn’t going to sacrifice coffee for testosterone heightened by marker fumes

 **Aaron Burr:** I didn’t know you were seeing someone

?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** I’m not

I date casually

There are too many cute girls at this college for my gay self

 **Aaron Burr:** Ah

I want to say ‘that explains a lot’ without sounding stereotypical

And not that it matters, but I’m bi

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Cool. So’s Eliza.

And Hamilton

The gaydar is actually a magnetic force that draws people together

 **Aaron Burr:** Is Peggy straight?

If it isn’t invasive to ask

 **Angelica Schuyler:** She’s not like totally sure but the last I heard was aro-ace

 **Aaron Burr:** Aro-Ace?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Aromantic asexual

 **Aaron Burr:** Oh

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Off topic BUT

Have you seen the poem Maisie wrote about Aristotle?

 **Aaron Burr:** Should I have?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** It’s kind of like My Immortal

 **Aaron Burr:** Oh God

In what way??

 **Angelica Schuyler:** I can’t decide whether it’s a work of art or something that never should have existed

 **Aaron Burr:** I see what you mean.

 

A second chat appears with another _ping._ The profile picture’s unfamiliar; it’s only when he looks at it properly that he realises who it is.

 

 **Alexander Hamilton:** light wounds to the head should heal soon, and the severity of the bruising may depend on how effectively you iced it

or smoothied it

is that a word?

Anyway the nhs website says u should be good in a few days, provided u don’t walk into any poles or pick at scabs

 **Aaron Burr:** Hi

 **Alexander Hamilton:** Hey!

how are u feeling?

 **Aaron Burr:** Better, thanks. Why the consultation of the NHS?

 **Alexander Hamilton:** oh, nothing

well, research

I knew most of it anyway but I wanted 2 check

 **Aaron Burr:** How’s *your* eye doing?

 **Alexander Hamilton:** it’s a beautiful purple

the guys had a go at putting foundation on it to cover it up and laurens bruised it further

 **Aaron Burr:** Why would you let Laurens near an injury?

 **Alexander Hamilton:** It seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

 **Angelica Schuyler:** You still there?

 **Aaron Burr:** Yes

Sorry

 **Angelica Schuyler:** No problem

Wait is the 15 mark question due tomorrow?

 **Aaron Burr:** On Bentham?

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Yeah

 **Aaron Burr:** Yep it’s due

 **Angelica Schuyler:** Wonderful

Excuse me, then

 **Aaron Burr:** See you Monday

 **Angelica Schuyler:** See you

 

 

 **Alexander Hamilton:** would u say that the violence at the demo was ‘inevitable’

(say no)

(I need 2 win an argument)

 **Aaron Burr:** uh

I’ve never witnessed it before

 **Alexander Hamilton:** that will do

 **Aaron Burr:** Why?

 **Alexander Hamilton:** stopping myself getting banned from future demos

would u say I’m irresponsible?

 **Aaron Burr:** I wouldn’t let you babysit my child or look after my pet

(Hypothetically, if I had either)

But you seem capable of taking care of yourself

And you did help me

 **Alexander Hamilton:** thx

I’m playing that card rn

 **Aaron Burr:** Is it working?

 **Alexander Hamilton:** I think so?

wait

yeah it is

thanks

 **Aaron Burr:** I still feel like I need to say thank-you again

 **Alexander Hamilton:** It’s fine

 **Aaron Burr:** No, really

 **Alexander Hamilton:** I didn’t do it for thanks

which if u consider on average is quite remarkable as I’m usually very reward-oriented

 **Aaron Burr:** I’m not saying you did. But thank you

Feel free to exploit this with the demand of more hot beverages

 **Alexander Hamilton:** no problem

I’m not good at text conversation so I’m going to go now

 **Aaron Burr:** See you at college

 **Alexander Hamilton:** yep bye

 

It’s inevitable, Burr realises sadly, that if you walk into college with the lower half of your face bruised and the upper scabbed that people are going to stare. What he’s less prepared for is the waves of people asking if he’s OK.

It starts even before his first class. A boy from History, who he knows but has never spoken to, pauses while filling a bottle at the water-fountain to ask what happened. Burr weighs up the merit of what could potentially be an exciting story and the effort and time it would take to tell it.

‘Somebody acquainted their fist with my face,’ he says. Shortly afterwards comes the realisation that it’s futile to be so brief – Hamilton’s injury is just as noticeable and he’s sure to want to tell the story.

Between the exchange at the water fountain and walking into class he’s accosted three times by people of varying degrees of familiarity. It’s probably a sign of how starved they are for gossip, that the moment a potential story emerges they pounce on it.

He thinks about experimenting with different stories, wondering if ‘I thought I saw David Tennant in the street and I tripped running after him’ will convince anybody. Alternatively, he could lift something from a ‘and then I said _Castiel_ would never say that and the whole class clapped’ Tumblr post. Not that there’s much point when there’s an eyewitness walking around ready and able to refute it.

Yet to Burr’s surprise, when Hamilton walks into class with a black eye so impressive it could be stage makeup and is hit by a flurry of questions, he just shrugs and takes his usual seat.

Backing away from an opportunity to talk is so unlike him that Burr’s almost worried. He tries to catch Hamilton’s eye, and for the first time is unsuccessful. The boy’s uncharacteristically silent, too, foregoing the usual morning greetings or indeed any indication that they know each other. Given that Hamilton’s somebody who probably makes conversation with potted plants, it’s a disturbing change.

‘Morning,’ Burr says, half-astonished that he’s the one who has to say it.

Hamilton just nods. To anyone else, it might appear that he’s really focused on getting stuff out of his bag, but Burr’s known him long enough to be aware of his skill at multi-tasking.

When the lesson starts, Jefferson mutters something about people getting themselves into trouble. Hamilton puffs up, and for a moment it’s almost back to normal. Yet the second he’s finished speaking he turns back to his notes, his brow furrowed, and Burr can’t shake the feeling that he’s done something wrong. Did he say something online that was taken the wrong way? Hamilton did leave quite abruptly, after Burr offered to buy him more drinks. It can’t have been that, it was both a joke and a lighthearted remark. Perhaps something happened in real time that distracted him.

There’s no point in the lesson that becomes a good time to ask. Hamilton’s behaving more or less as he usually would – loudly voicing his opinion and bickering with anyone who dares to disagree – yet whenever he’s finished he ducks his head down to consult his notebook when normally he’d glance around as if expecting applause.

Towards the end of the class, Burr starts deliberating over whether to ask if something’s wrong. The pros of doing so involve possibly being able to fix whatever’s wrong and at the least putting his mind at rest. The cons, as far as he can see them, are the possibility of exacerbating the problem, coming off as needy or simply overreacting. Maybe Hamilton’s tired, maybe Burr’s imagining it and nothing is happening.

Unable to come to a conclusion himself, he chooses to consult a reliable third party instead. The only drawback of that is that he can’t do so until lunch, and they’ve got another hour lesson together before that.

‘Hey,’ Burr says, when they’re packing up Politics things and preparing to move down to the History classroom.

‘Hi,’ Hamilton mutters.

‘That looks like it hurts,’ Burr carries on. The bruise contrasts strongly with the tone of the rest of the face, like a bold eyeshadow choice that’s gone horribly wrong.

‘It’s all right.’

Not one inclined to pursue a conversation when it’s unwanted, Burr lapses into silence. The sensible approach would naturally be to realise that Hamilton might simply be in a mood that isn’t cheerful and let it go. Usually Burr’s pretty good at that – after all, there’s no need to assume responsibility unless he’s been given a reason to believe that he should. Today the nagging uncertainty lingers longer than is comfortable, though it does eventually evaporate.

He concentrates on the work instead, willing himself to remember definitions and essay techniques because if he does well in the autumn term he can only get better. There’s one strange moment, when he looks up in the middle of answering some questions from a Powerpoint and feels Hamilton’s eyes on him. It’s over as soon as he notices, Hamilton hurriedly returning to his own answer, yet it leaves Burr unsure.

Lunch does nothing to assuage his worries. They’re halfway to the canteen, descending the stairs in mutual silence when Mulligan and Lafayette approach. Hamilton immediately brightens, greeting them with an enthusiasm he’d completely lacked a few minutes ago.

‘Do you think I can get out of History tomorrow by saying my head hurts?’ he asks Lafayette, who shrugs.

‘Worth trying, I would think.’

‘We have to get a picture of it,’ Mulligan says. His legs are long enough that he’s descending the stairs two-at-a-time. ‘Hey, Burr, how do you feel about injury selfies? Post battle.’

‘Um,’ Burr says. They’re both looking at him, while Hamilton’s eyes are on them. ‘I don’t really want to make a fuss, to be honest.’

‘You coming for lunch?’ Lafayette asks. ‘Laurens is going to try the vegetarian casserole if I buy it for him.’

‘Nah, I’m meeting someone.’

‘You sure? They say the grey stuff is aubergine, but we’re not sure. If he doesn’t finish it, he’s got to pay me back.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure.’ The prospect of being ignored for an hour is far from appealing and he’s not entirely lying when he mentions other plans. ‘Have fun.’

‘See you!’ They sweep away with alarming speed. Burr pauses and then makes his way to the largest stairwell on the second floor where Angelica always eats.

She’s already there when he arrives, sitting cross-legged with her back against the wall and somehow making it look like it’s the most obvious place to be seated. He takes the spot beside her and opens his bag to extract his own lunch.

‘This is going to sound callous, but you really did get the best of it,’ she says. ‘Small yet noticeable injuries. Commonly inflicted in films when they have to show the effort the hero’s making yet can’t afford to injure them seriously.’

‘I nearly took the scab off this morning,’ he reaches up to feel it. The crust has dried in place, though he finds the loose edge easily. ‘Hit myself with the edge of the door.’

‘Heroically, I’m sure.’

‘Mm.’

‘I assume Hamilton’s enjoying the attention? He’s probably a better storyteller than both my sisters combined.’

‘Yeah, about that,’ Burr begins, but is interrupted by a handful of staff walking past. One of them – he recognises the woman as the deputy head – stares at the two of them disapprovingly. You’re not supposed to eat anywhere outside of the canteen, nor is sitting in stairwells permitted. Angelica just stares back, meeting the woman’s gaze squarely.

None of the staff say anything.                                                                                   

‘That felt like somebody was blackmailed,’ Burr says, glancing at their backs. ‘Do I want to know who and how?’

‘Probably not. Though I promise there was no actual blackmail involved.’ She finishes her meal, a homemade pasta salad, and tucks the plastic container back into her bag. ‘Were you saying something?’

‘What? Oh, yes. Hamilton’s been in a strange mood today.’

‘Strange how?’

‘He’s not talking - ’

‘Jesus Christ, call an ambulance.’

‘- _to me_ ,’ Burr finishes. ‘He ignored everybody this morning, then the guys show up and he behaves like nothing’s wrong and I don’t exist.’

‘Aaron Burr coming to me with drama,’ Angelica sighs. ‘Maybe today’s a good day for lottery tickets.’

‘Shut up.’

She smiles. ‘I don’t know, maybe Eliza told him about Peggy’s rewriting of events and he got embarrassed. Nothing horrific happened in Pret that I didn’t hear about?’

‘Who else would I tell? Laurens would never keep anything secret and the others wouldn’t keep it from him.’

‘You’re more than capable of keeping things to yourself. _Did_ anything else happen in Pret?’

‘He bought us drinks, cleaned my face, I bought us drinks, we left.’

‘He cleaned your face?’

‘I was bleeding,’ he reminds her.

‘You should probably take a moment to thank every God there is that Peggy didn’t get hold of those details.’

‘Mm.’ A part of him would like to bring up the fact that he’s being ignored again. He suppresses it. It won’t be a Thing unless he makes it a Thing and he’s never wanted to become a person that makes a scene.

‘You’d be a good English student,’ Angelica says, unexpectedly.

‘Ah yes. _The curtains are green, symbolizing his attachment to the natural world._ ’

‘Don’t flaunt your ignorance.’

Stung, he asks, ‘Why, then?’

‘There’s a lot of argument involved with critics shit-talking each other and sometimes it’s best to remain neutral. Refer to ‘sustained ambivalence’ and how ‘many readings exist simultaneously’. We were looking at some this morning, they reminded me of you.’

‘Thanks? How’s the university thing going?’

‘It’s going. I’ve more or less won the subject argument, because a lot of places ask for you to have done Maths if you apply for Philosophy.’

‘That’s good, then.’

‘Should be, yes. Turns out there are still things to argue about.’

‘If it’s any consolation, my money’s on you.’

‘You’re only saying that because my arguments beat you into the dust last year,’ she says, though her face softens.

‘They did not. I’ll admit you made some good points, but so did I.’

‘I could remind you about some of your results.’

‘And yours were all perfect?’ Entertaining as this is, he’s suddenly very grateful that they don’t share the same classes.

Angelica just smiles. ‘They were near enough to be.’

Burr doesn’t argue. He could, it would be easy enough, and they’d get the ball bouncing back and forth as they waited for the other to slip up. He doesn’t doubt he’d enjoy it, and yet instead of retorting he finds himself shrugging passively. Where they were was good, but where they are now is better and he’s not going to throw it away if he can help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I always spend my end notes apologising, and as I'm not one to break habits I'm so sorry this chapter both took ages and is so short.
> 
> Can you tell I love the Angelica&Burr friendship? Because I do and it's got to the point where in the future I might write a romantic fic about them because tbh they could probably take over the world if they were so inclined. 
> 
> If you have any questions or enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment or send me an ask at betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s only Wednesday and it’s already clear that it’s going to be a long week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry how long this chapter has taken. I actually wrote most of it over a week ago, but have been so busy with college that I haven't had the time/energy to edit it.

Over the course of the week, Hamilton’s silence gradually disappears. However what comes in its place – an emotional detachment and distance – is almost worse. He’ll respond to whatever Burr says and takes part in class discussions as he usually would, yet manages to avoid meeting his eyes.

Several times, Burr comes close to asking if he’s done anything. In every case he stops short, unable to find a way to phrase it. He’s not meant to be the talkative one; usually Hamilton managed all their communication by himself.

This really shouldn’t be a big deal, when you think about it. He doesn’t especially mind Hamilton’s preoccupation, he’s merely getting used to it. And it is something that takes getting used to. Hamilton’s so vibrant that his absence is almost as noticeable as his presence. Burr hadn’t really registered all those hallway conversations and discussions during break until they’d disappeared, leaving jarring gaps of empty space.

The most confusing part of all of it is that it seems to only be him that Hamilton’s ignoring. When it’s only the two of them together he maintains a stony silence, yet the moment one of the others shows up he turns around and behaves as though Burr has ceased to exist. The others don’t seem to notice it happening, the only advantage of which being that they treat Burr as they ordinarily would. It’s difficult, though, to stay in a conversation when the driving force of it pretends you’re not there.

On Wednesday everything is bent out of shape still further when he arrives early to class and James Madison strikes up a conversation.

‘Hey,’ he says, turning in his seat.‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s all right,’ Burr does his best to conceal his surprise. In the past he’s probably said about ten words to Madison in total, at least six of which were _can you pass the hole puncher? ‘_ You?’

‘Can’t complain. Every time I get stressed I remind myself at least it’s not exam term yet.’

Burr hums in a way that sounds vaguely affirmative, trying to remember what he knows about Madison. Trailing in Jefferson’s shadow, the guy doesn’t leave a lasting impression and yet talking to Burr starts to suspect that the guy’s a lot smarter and more shrewd than he lets on. It’s both compelling and off-putting – Burr can’t decide whether he wants to talk for longer or escape while he still can.

‘Hamilton, though.’ Madison shakes his head. ‘The guy acts like he’s God’s gift to mankind. Has it ever occurred to him that he’s the only one that likes the sound of his voice?’

Burr nearly says something about Hamilton’s intonation being rather compelling. He catches himself in time.

‘You hang out with him, don’t you?’ Madison continues. ‘Isn’t he annoying?’

‘He can be.’

He realizes a beat later that there’s no point being defensive about Hamilton when the boy doesn’t want to be defended. Or looked at or spoken to, or so it’s seemed.

‘Guy’s a weirdo. And his fan club?’ Madison makes a disparaging noise.

That he doesn’t seem to include Burr in that fan club is somewhat telling. On the one hand, it’s nice to know that he doesn’t publically worship Hamilton, and on the other…Hell, it’s not like he wanted to be friends with Hamilton, he was just presented with no other choice.

‘He’s self-absorbed,’ Burr says. It’s the first voluntary contribution he’s made to the conversation, and in a way it feels good to get it out. ‘Got to be the centre of everybody’s universe.’

‘You’d know better than I would,’ Madison remarks. ‘Though half the time I think he forgets that there are other people in this class.’

Burr finds himself nodding. Other people are coming into the room and it doesn’t occur to him to stop agreeing until he sees Hamilton walk through the door.

Almost instinctively, Burr’s gaze moves across to lock eyes with Hamilton. It’s only for a second, and yet it feels like the first time he’s looked at him properly since they were in Pret. Seconds later it hits Burr how guilty he looks, sitting with his chair angled so that he can face Madison. And the word _guilty_ is a hyperbolic one to use, because they’re seventeen and in college and simply talking to someone isn’t a crime.

Except when Hamilton’s shoulder’s slump a couple of centimetres and he looks away, it feels like one.

Burr has to work hard not to move his chair back immediately. He keeps his posture deliberately casual, at least until Jefferson swans into the room.

He doesn’t seem very surprised to see Burr sitting there, which is depressing when one remembers that it’s only been two days that Hamilton has been ignoring him.

‘You should have lunch with us,’ Madison says, as the class begins and Burr shifts back to his original position. ‘I’m sure you’ve got some good stories.’

Hamilton stiffens – no doubt the intended reaction – but doesn’t challenge Burr. He doesn’t even challenge Jefferson, and beyond the rigidness of his posture gives no sign that he’s heard.

It’s only Wednesday and it’s already clear that it’s going to be a long week.

 

Burr doesn’t really remember what they cover in class. He notes it all down – it’ll be stuff he’s already read up on upon anyway – and lets his mind wander. The most pressing concern is the newfound friendliness of Madison and Jefferson. If it’s only gossip that they’re after he should be fine, but he’s struggling to suppress an irrational panic that something could be afoot.

And the very fact that he just seriously thought the word ‘afoot’ indicates the peculiarity of the situation.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find new things to worry about. The class concludes with the return of their essays (Burr got 38/40, Hamilton got 39) and Jefferson casts an appraising eye over him.

‘You’re not bad,’ he says. What he’s basing it on – the essay mark, Burr’s outfit or his personality in general – is unclear.

‘Thanks.’

They pack up and he follows them from the room, down to the loud and obnoxiously busy canteen. It’s probably no surprise that it fits their chosen lunchtime activity – which is complaining about anything that catches their eye.

To his relief, Burr doesn’t have to say much. Jefferson more or less provides a running commentary wherein he offers his opinion of terrible things, easily assisted by Madison. It’s a critique on fashion, intellect and just about everything that can be gauged from a close distance. If Burr’s honest with himself, it’s a lot less entertaining than watching Mulligan crush people at arm wrestling tournaments (or being crushed by Mulligan at the tournaments) or seeing Lafayette’s dismay as he’s ousted from his position as pool champion.

The anticipated gossip is a slight let-down. Burr hasn’t been not talking to Hamilton for long enough to have built up resentment and Madison seems unwilling to push his luck. Perhaps for now it’s merely enough that they’re in each other’s company, making conversation that doesn’t feel normal and yet concerns entirely normal things.

Still, by the conclusion of the lunch hour, Burr’s more than ready to forsake their company. He makes excuses and gets up to leave, which is entirely futile when it transpires that Jefferson and Madison are going the same way. Awkwardly in step, they reach the door leading to the stairs. Burr’s about to open it when he hears somebody calling his name and pauses, looking over his shoulder.

It’s Lafayette, hovering awkwardly and his eyes flicking uncertainly between Burr and his companions.

‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi,’ Burr replies. And then, because it seems necessary, ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m 18 next week,’ Lafayette says. ‘So I’m having a party. You want to come?’

‘Um.’ Burr says. He can dimly recall some mention of this birthday being made before, but hadn’t really considered it.

‘Needless to say,’ despite it being needless, Lafayette continues to speak anyway, ‘the invite’s just for you.’

Burr comes very, very close to saying that Jefferson and Madison are not his friends. (And they aren’t. They’re just two guys he kind of knows and who he ate lunch with one time.) Yet something about the way Lafayette’s looking at him as though he’s done something wrong irritates him and he finds himself folding his arms across his chest and leaning back so that he’s closer to Jefferson.

‘I’ll see whether I can come,’ he says, about the party. ‘I’m not sure if I’m free.’

‘Let me know,’ Lafayette shrugs, mimicking Burr’s casual attitude. ‘The guys are going to be there, Washington might show.’

Lafayette’s eyes slide across to meet Jefferson’s. There’s an odd moment of something unspoken that passes almost before Burr registers that it’s happening.

‘Well,’ says Lafayette. ‘It would be nice to see you there.’ He turns abruptly and begins to walk down the length of the canteen to the other end.

It’s a good thing that they have separate classes next, as Burr’s head is buzzing too much to make reasoned conversation. He’s being melodramatic again, which is strange because he’s sure he used to be able respond rationally to things. Maybe it’s Hamilton’s influence; the guy can’t leave anything alone and now he’s messing with Burr’s head.

The problem, when it gets down to it, is not the party invite. He likes Lafayette and he has reason to believe that Lafayette likes him. What troubles him is that for the brief moment where he envisioned going he could see the scene all too clearly. Hamilton, lighting up the whole room with the convenient exception of wherever Burr’s standing. Everyone else will have their place in his solar system, Burr will just get in the way.

Thanks to Laurens, though, he doesn’t have the luxury of moping about it. They come across each other after class, and Laurens demands that Burr play him at pool.

‘I don’t know how,’ Burr points out, confident in the statement’s ability as a dealbreaker.

It doesn’t faze Laurens in the slightest. ‘OK, I’ll teach you. I need the practice, Hamilton’s flattening me at the moment and I thought I should train in secret. It’ll be fun.’

‘Aren’t any of the others around?’

‘Mulligan went birthday shopping, Lafayette’s got homework and Peggy’s not in today.’

Burr leans against the wall of the corridor. ‘How is teaching me going to help you train?’

‘I don’t know, but I decided to play two games a day. Would you rather somebody else taught you?’ Laurens bounces on the soles of his feet. ‘I’ll make it awesome.’

To his credit, Burr stops to think about it. For most of the term now he’s been avoiding the common room, suspecting that sooner or later somebody’s going to insist he play pool. The idea of learning hasn’t been any more appealing the many times he’s returned to it, and yet he realises with a sinking heart that if he’s going to learn now is the time. He’s never seen Laurens try to teach anybody, so it could be an experience. Still, if he’s going to be taught, it might as well be by one of the people he doesn’t know very well. The two of them rarely interact outside of the group - the advantage of this being that losing dignity won’t be so great a sacrifice.

Besides, Laurens is not fantastic at pool himself, so it’s not like Burr’s going to get lessons from a prodigy.

‘All _right_ ,’ he says, bowing to the inevitable and conceding that it doesn’t look like he’s got much choice in whether he learns or not.

‘It’s going to be great,’ Laurens promises, setting off down the corridor with his new student in tow. ‘Hey, if you learn in secret too you can get really good and then challenge Hamilton. He’ll never even see it coming.’

It is a pleasant thought. Burr allows himself to enjoy it for a few moments before discarding it. ‘Unless you’re expecting me to practice all hours of the day, I don’t think I’ll be up to beating Hamilton.’

‘Beat? I never said _beat_. You’re supposed to give him a run for his money. I’m good, I don’t work miracles.’

‘I’m touched by your faith in me,’ Burr says drily, even though what Laurens has said reinforced his original point.

‘You should be! ‘Cause you’ll be good at it.’

A couple of people are already in the common room, but they aren’t using the pool table. Laurens picks up one of the cues and hands it to Burr who inspects it with a caution that betrays his nerves. (It’s one thing to accept the possibility of humiliation and another to actively move towards it.)

‘Is that a reasoned judgement or encouragement?’ he asks.

‘Both.’ Leaning his own cue against the side of the table, Laurens starts arranging the balls. ‘You tend to think stuff out, and this is a game about planning and precision.’

Burr makes a non-committal noise. He’s been here a few times with Angelica, the two of them Googling the rules and enjoying the fact that neither of them knew what to do. He’d been better than her at that anarchical version, though that didn’t really translate to Actually Being Able to play it.

‘Once you know the rules, you just have to practice,’ Laurens begins, lining up his first shot and splitting the balls apart with a crack.

Then it’s Burr’s turn. He has a slight idea of what to do, having watched previous games. He gets into position carefully, Laurens flitting around to correct his technique. The first shot has very little power behind it; the white hits one of the red balls and bounces off. The red wasn’t even close to being potted, but Burr’s going to take the fact that he didn’t miss completely as a good sign.

His next shot is a little better and his third is a catastrophe. As teachers go, Laurens is surprisingly competent. Some of the rules he explains twice and others not at all, yet he manages to get the gist across and avoids offering feedback that isn’t positive. It may not translate to the most effective way to learn, but it makes it a more pleasant experience.

‘So what are you getting Lafayette?’ he asks, mid-game. Burr pauses. It’s not something he’s had time to think over, especially given that he’s not sure whether he should go to the party

‘I don’t know,’ he says. That much he can be open about. ‘What about you?’

‘Bourbon. He’s said he wants to try it. Booze of some kind would be your best bet, though he’s sworn never to have another Jägerbomb.’

‘Do I want to know why?’

‘I don’t think so. You don’t drink?’

‘I don’t _not_ drink, but I don’t make a habit of it. I’m not 18 till February.’

‘Since when did being 18 matter that much?’ Laurens asks, and he’s got a point. ‘The government’s too busy criminalizing drugs to care about underage drinking.’

It’s quite an amusing combination, Burr thinks, to be politically minded and inclined to party. Laurens hits this point again a moment later, saying, ‘Hey, did you hear about the drunk debate? We’re gonna have another one soon.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Oh, it was great.’ Apparently oblivious to the fact that Burr didn’t request further enlightenment, Laurens starts off on a story that involves himself, Hamilton, Lafayette, Mulligan, and some vodka.

As he does when Hamilton’s talking, Burr listens selectively. He’s more preoccupied with the game, as he’s still coming to grips with the nuances of it. Laurens is enjoying himself. It sounds like the sort of incident that would be fun to witness and yet is not at all entertaining to hear about.

‘We’re thinking for the repeat performance it might not be best to do it inside. Or not inside somewhere with many breakable ornaments.’

‘Sounds wise.’ Burr manages to pot his third ball. After an early lead, Laurens is dwindling, too engaged in his story to focus on much else. He still wins, of course. He gamely suggests a second round, pointing out Burr’s strengths towards the end. Burr declines, preferring to take things slowly. He thanks Laurens, and makes his way out of the college.

 

Burr’s social life has reached a stagnant stage by the end of the week. He’s hung out with Madison and Jefferson a little more, feeling a fair bit like a third wheel in an old married couple dynamic. Hamilton doesn’t seem to notice, and the others avoid bringing it up.

‘You’re acting like children,’ Angelica says, on Friday afternoon. She and Burr are chilling in a study room off the library, though they haven’t been using the time productively. What they have done includes discussing which teacher has the best dress sense and Angelica updating him on Eloise’s latest avian accessories.

‘Need I remind you that we’re both legally children?’

She hits him with a pen. ‘You know what I meant. You should talk to him if it’s bothering you.’

‘It isn’t. He’s got other friends, so do I. He’s the one that was following me around, puppy-style.’

‘And you miss that.’

He shakes his head. ‘He can do what he likes.’

‘Mm, and the fact that you’ve adopted Jefferson and Madison to replace him says nothing.’

‘What are you insinuating?’

‘I can see what’s going on. You’re associating with people who drive Hamilton nuts.’

‘ _They_ socialized with _me._ Is it shocking that some people do that?’

‘I do usually fall under the category of people,’ she shoots back. She’s started trying to do origami with a square post-it note. The sticky edge is making the task unduly difficult. ‘Are you having fun with your new friends?’

‘They’re OK,’ Burr says, realizing after the words have left his mouth that his tone suggested he was describing a benign species of mould. ‘I mean, they’re fun. In a different way.’

‘Calm down, your enthusiasm is showing.’ With extreme care, she folds out an origami flower and places it on her pile of books. ‘I mean, Jefferson’s entertaining.’

‘As in you laugh at him or you laugh with him?’

‘Surprisingly, the latter. Stranger things have happened. He was in my Classics class last year.’

‘Huh.’ It’s strange to think that’s that who Burr was last year; somebody else for Angelica to argue with. Still, it’s heartening to remember that even before Hamilton showed up people have been arguing with Jefferson.

(And, though it shocks him to think it, Angelica might be better in a debate than Hamilton. He lines up his arguments and ploughs ahead, whereas Burr knows from experience that Angelica likes to keep at least one devastating point in reserve in case she needs to crush counter arguments.)

‘It was fun. And weird. He asked me out at one point.’

‘Wow.’

‘I let him down gently.’

‘How are the coffee dates?’ Surreal as it is to be discussing personal things, now that they are it feels automatic. A2 hasn’t been going that long and already the tidy life that Burr had built for himself has been remodeled.

‘They’re, uh, good.’ She nods. ‘What about you? Wait, no, you can’t be seeing anyone ‘cause otherwise there would have been a crisis or three that I would have heard about.’

‘Your belief in my capabilities is inspiring.’ He sighs. ‘No, I’m not seeing anyone.’

‘Do you want to?’

He gives her a look, and she shrugs. ‘Eliza isn’t dating and Peggy won’t tell me anything. Great minds need gossip.’

‘Sorry, don’t have any. I’d have thought Peggy was a gossip machine.’

‘She is sometimes. I’m hoping this is a phase. Oh, are you going to Lafayette’s birthday thing?’

‘How are you in the loop about it? Are you going?’

‘No, Eliza is. She’s Hamilton’s plus-one. Platonically – she says he’s into some guy.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, she caught him Facebook stalking but didn’t see enough. Could explain why he’s been so distracted?’

‘It could,’ Burr agrees. Somehow the idea of Hamilton being a person who had crushes doesn’t sit well with him. ‘That’s assuming he’s capable of emotion. I haven’t completely ruled out the possibility of his being an efficient robot programmed to mimic human behaviour.’

‘One could make the same argument for you,’ she returns. ‘And as somebody who’s seen his love poetry, trust me when I say he’s human. Ridiculously so.’

‘Right. So wait, Eliza’s going?’

‘Yep. He invited me, but I’ve got stuff. Are you?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t want to make things weird.’

‘You do realise that not going would increase the weird factor more than anything else?’

He sighs again. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t go. I’ll get Lafayette something great and make my excuses.’

‘Something great like?’

‘A gift card?’

‘Really? That’s the genius method of appeasement?’

‘People like gift cards,’ he protests. ‘They show that you care while absolving you of the responsibility of choosing and actually committing to something. It’s win-win.’

‘It’s not personal. It’s one step above giving somebody money.’

‘Money just says _I feel obligated to care_ ,’ he argues, picking up one of the post-its that she’d discarded in her origami attempts and starting to shred it. ‘A voucher says _I wanted to get you a book but I didn’t know which one, so pick yourself.’_

‘Then all you’re doing is giving him the effort of finding something.’ She moves the remaining stack of post-its out of his reach. ‘Are you gonna pick up the pieces when you’re done?’

He glances down. Already there is a fine scattering of yellow paper over his lap, the chair and the carpet. ‘Yes,’ and looking back at her, ‘do you have any better ideas? For a gift?’

‘You’re the friend, not me.’

 

He gets a book token in the end, on the reasoning that it’s not the worst present in the world and apart from shamelessly copying Laurens he doesn’t have other ideas. He’ll give it to Lafayette on Monday, when hopefully he’ll be too hungover to react negatively.

Not including the Waterstones trip, Burr’s Saturday is somewhat on the drab side. It’s considerably more fun than Sunday, though, by which point he’s having second thoughts about his decision not to go. It could turn out to be a great time. And what if Hamilton’s crush is there? The guy could be anybody, and it’s not like Hamilton is typically good at decision-making. Yes, he had the striking good fortune to date Eliza, except he then cheated on her. The crush could be one of Washington’s university friends, or somebody from a different college.

And the others, for all their attachment to Hamilton, are not the most responsible of friends. They’d assume Hamilton can take care of himself, and the guy can’t even hold a Facebook conversation.

Burr wouldn’t normally worry, only things happen at parties. He’s not certain how wild Lafayette is going for, but it’s an 18th and so there must be alcohol. And with that comes a whole host of other problems. This crush guy could spike Hamilton’s drink or take advantage of his inebriated state.

It’s very difficult to concentrate on homework that afternoon. He starts off planning a Politics essay, loses heart and takes notes on Utilitarianism instead. Ethics is shaping up to be his favourite Philosophy unit, though part of that could be due to his newfound ability to discuss it with Angelica instead of competing with her. There are still competitive moments that resurface every so often. He tries not to get fixated on them and suspects that she does the same.

He’s called down for dinner around seven and is distracted during most of the meal by the knowledge that the party is starting soon. He helps a little with the washing-up, (it’s not his day to, but it’s a form of procrastination) and returns to his room. Perhaps it would be best if he watched something instead, then he’d stop worrying pointlessly.

(If _he_ doesn’t worry about Hamilton though, who will?)

Angelica texts him as he’s scrolling through Netflix. _“If you wanna hear about the awesome time you’re missing, Eliza’s livetweeting from her personal account”_

 _“and the guys won’t resent her for publically mocking them?”_ he inquires.

_“they don’t follow her. I can tell her to approve you as a follower if you’d like”_

_“why not”_ he replies, hoping that it comes across as casual.

She sends him Eliza’s twitter username a moment later, and he logs on.

It’s very weird in many ways to stalk a party that you’re not attending. The thought pops into Burr’s head as he scrolls down to read the first tweet. ( _Arrived. Disco ball has fallen and smashed. This could turn into a funeral_ ).

Over the course of the evening, he establishes a routine. He’ll watch ten minutes of something and then pause to check his phone. Eliza updates regularly, sometimes focusing on a specific person and at other times reporting on the party in general. In the modern age of journalism she could probably make a living doing this.

At around nine, he gets a text from Washington asking where he is.

Burr explains, trying to shake off his disappointment. He doesn’t see much of Washington and would like to – even if he wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise with certain Other People who’d be there.

Thanks to Eliza’s tweets, his unnatural anxiety has all but disappeared by midnight, at which point it returns in full force.

_Hamilton is completely pissed and trying to make a speech. Many shots have contributed to this spectacle._

It’s such a stupid, arbitrary thing to get worked up about. Of course Hamilton is drunk; everybody is drunk, with the apparent exception of Eliza who’s writing with sober levels of lucidness and sarcasm. This is what happens at parties, and yet Burr can’t shake some anxiety. Hamilton does stupid things without the help of alcohol, who knows what he’d do with his inhibitions removed?

The next update does nothing to alleviate his concerns, only mentioning Mulligan and a pot plant. He tells himself the next one will be reassuring and tries to distract himself with TV, but twenty minutes elapse without another tweet. Twenty become thirty and then forty. He refreshes the page multiple times, to the point where he’s practically memorized the pot plant incident.

If Eliza’s disappeared, does that mean that something has happened to her? Or has something happened to somebody else, meaning that she’s unable to tweet?

This would never have been a problem before the Internet, Burr thinks, unintentionally sounding like a pensioner. It’s true, though, in the ‘90s he would be fretting over the delayed flight of a carrier pigeon or something. Now in the age of instant gratification he can only sit and try to occupy his mind with other things.

It’s not easy; worry is sitting heavily in his chest contaminating each thought with a stab of panic. Is it too much to ask Angelica? Will he come across as paranoid? Probably.

 

Sometime after 2 am, (his sleeping pattern is so, so fucked) Eliza’s twitter updates.

_So, a word to the wise, kids, don’t vomit on people’s carpets (1/3)_

_To recap: everybody is alive, with the exception of lafayette’s living room and my phone battery (2/3)_

_Never let alexander hamilton mix a drink for you either (3/3)_

‘Everybody’ has to apply to Hamilton, and the fact that she’s able to refer to him so flippantly in the third tweet has to mean he’s OK. Relieved, tired and thoroughly disgusted with himself, Burr manages to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm really sorry. 
> 
> To clear up a couple of things:  
> • Utilitarianism is a theory of ethics, usually associated with Jeremy Bentham (mentioned in the last chapter)  
> • 18 is the legal drinking age in the UK
> 
> I realise I haven't said anything about the future structure. I do have a plan, which I am (more or less) sticking to and can say that I'm anticipating that this will be 15 or 16 chapters in total. Should this change drastically, I'll let you know.
> 
> Though saying this with my track record for updates is probably futile: they're probably going to get more irregular the closer we get to June. I have important exams then and with revising and stuff I don't always have the time/energy to write.
> 
> I really appreciate every kudos and comment - however brief, they're lovely to receive.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘So,’ Hamilton says. His hands are fiddling with each other, his usual gestures on fast forward. Is this where he tells Burr that it’s over, and they can’t be friends?

On Monday morning, Burr’s sensibilities have returned, leaving him profoundly embarrassed by the emotions of the night before. The only upside is that he’s too tired to feel anything properly – an inevitable consequence of staying up that late.

He nearly falls asleep on the bus, his mind occupied by a hazy fantasy about how pleasant it would be to be in bed. It’s a good thing that he suspended it until now; had he started thinking about sleep while he was still at home it’s possible he might have mysteriously migrated back to bed.

(Possible, not probable. He has never missed a class since he started at Richard Rodgers and something as inconsequential as sleep is not going to change that.)

As soon as he’s inside the canteen, though, Burr realises he doesn’t have much to complain about. At the table nearest the door, a very hungover Laurens and Mulligan are sitting and nursing cups of coffee.

‘Morning,’ Burr nods, taking the bench opposite them.

‘I want to be asleep,’ Laurens mutters pitifully, unknowingly echoing Burr’s morning thought process. ‘Why am I not asleep?’

‘We deserve good karma for being here,’ Mulligan says. ‘They should take it into account.’

‘They?’ Burr prompts. Religion has never come up as a topic, but he doesn’t remember Mulligan being affiliated with any.

He waves a hand. ‘You know. The universe.’

Burr laughs, and remembers suddenly that he has to feign ignorance lest he betray Eliza. ‘Was the party good?’

‘Yeah,’ Mulligan confirms. ‘Though not for everyone. There were vomiting incidents.’

‘Hence the Lafayette sized gap at this table,’ Laurens interjects.

‘Is he all right?’

‘If he’s ever allowed out of the house. He’s fine. Washington was a real bro; he stayed to clean up and tried to convince Lafayette’s parents that nobody really was to blame.’

‘We missed you,’ Mulligan nods. ‘You should have seen the drinking wonder that is Eliza Schuyler.’

‘Eliza wasn’t – she got drunk?’ Her tweets sounded so sober. Burr tries to pass it off as mere incredulity that somebody as quiet and mild mannered would be labeled a drinking wonder.

‘She can hold her liquor,’ says Mulligan, now sombre. ‘It was impressive.’

‘I think she could be a Bond villain,’ Laurens sighs.

Privately, Burr disagrees. Angelica is the sister who could take over the world. Eliza would be the hero trying to save it.

‘Have you seen Hamilton?’ When both the others shake their heads he grins, though it comes across as a headache induced grimace. ‘He’s bordering on manic today. He’s had six espresso shots.’

Perhaps dying at the party would have been a kinder fate.

‘You guys talking about Hamilton?’ Eliza has now entered. She’s also clutching coffee and looking just as wan as Mulligan and Laurens. ‘That’s a name I could survive without hearing for at least twenty-four hours.’

‘Hey,’ Burr scoots to make space.

‘Never let me drink again,’ she says, dropping her backpack onto the floor beside her and resting her elbows on the table surface.

‘Did the vomit wash out of your skirt OK?’ Laurens asks.

‘Yeah, thanks, it didn’t stain. Is Lafayette in today?’

‘Not this morning.’ Burr’s only just remembered that he still has to give him his present.

The conversation steadily deteriorates from there. Most of them aren’t really in the mood for talking for its own sake and Burr has never been one to drive pointless conversation. He’s wondering whether he should get a coffee just so that he fits in when Hamilton enters.

It’s very clear that Laurens was telling the truth. Beaming and positively bouncing on the balls of his feet, he approaches the table with enthusiasm that suggests he’s not even unhappy to be awake at this hour of the morning. He’s even dressed neatly, his hair secured in a tidy bun and wearing a dark green shirt with only the top button undone.

‘Hi!’ he says, to the table at large. Quieter greetings are muttered back. Hamilton’s gaze pauses on Eliza for a moment before shifting to Burr.

‘Um,’ he says, a little of his eagerness fading. ‘Burr, could we talk?’

‘Yes.’ Perhaps Hamilton has finally realised that something is wrong. Or, you know, it’s occurred to him that blanking people tends to annoy them. It’s only when he’s getting up to join Hamilton that he realises that there’s a good chance he’s only accepting because it’s been a full week since they had a proper conversation.

He nods a goodbye to the rest of the table and follows Hamilton from the canteen. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I was thinking the library.’

‘Ah, yes. The place of silent study. Ideal for conversations.’

Hamilton huffs irritably. It’s difficult to tell whether he’s annoyed or on edge. He’s fidgeting even more than usual, no doubt a result of all the coffee. ‘You can talk if you’re right at the back, and we won’t be disturbed there.’

So secrecy is important. Perhaps Hamilton’s worried that if he starts talking to Burr again it will ruin his image of not caring. Burr’s starting to get nervous in spite of himself. Funny, how his nerves make him slower and more precise, whereas Hamilton spirals in the opposite direction.

The whole of the library isn’t very busy when they arrive – unsurprising, given that there’s a good twenty minutes before the first class is due to start. And sure enough, the lines of shelves right at the back, containing volumes on computing, are completely deserted.

‘So,’ Hamilton says. His hands are fiddling with each other, his usual gestures on fast forward. Is this where he tells Burr that it’s over, and they can’t be friends? Or he might have contracted some mystery illness and only has days to live. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

‘This is difficult,’ he ploughs on. ‘I know I’m good at talking, but not always about feelings. So bear with me.’

‘OK,’ Burr nods, sounding a lot more composed than he feels. Communication is supposed to be a good thing. Communication could probably undo the heaviness that’s been sitting in his chest all week. Why, then, is he able to taste a bitterness that is equal parts fear and dread? ‘What is it?’

Hamilton takes a deep breath. ‘I don’t think we should be friends anymore.’

For all his nightmare speculation, Burr honestly hadn’t thought that Hamilton would say that. And certainly not so brazenly, as if all their friendship had been was a simple misunderstanding.

‘May I ask why?’ He’s slightly proud of the fact that his voice is perfectly steady. His hands – unlike Hamilton’s, which are still fidgeting like restless birds – hang from his pockets, still.

‘You haven’t done anything,’ Hamilton insists, quickly and unconvincingly.

‘So it’s not me, it’s you?’

‘Exactly.’

That’s not an explanation at all, yet Burr realises it may be all he can bear to hear.

‘So, is that all?’ Being anywhere but here would be preferable at the minute. As far as any outsider would be concerned he would be the image of composure, but as of this moment he’d rather sit in a scorpion nest than have to look at Alexander I Am Doing The Right Thing Hamilton.

If they aren’t going to be friends, then that’s fine. He’s known this was coming, hasn’t he? Everything will be fine, as long as he can find a remote corner of the planet to sit in while he adjusts.

‘Yes! No. Wait.’ If possible, Hamilton’s more agitated than before. ‘Should I be honest? Honesty is the best policy, right? Or will it just make things worse?’

‘It depends,’ Burr hovers. He’d still like the ground to open up and swallow him, but maybe in five minutes when his curiosity is satisfied. ‘Are you going to tell me something terrible about myself? Because that I could live without hearing.’

‘No! That’s just it. You’re nice. And I like spending time with you.’

‘So the problem is…?’

It’s so unusual to see Hamilton struggling for words. ‘I had a dream about you,’ he gets out finally. ‘I mean, a _dream.’_ The floodgates open and suddenly he can’t stop talking. ‘And you were naked and there are weird feelings now, which I know you don’t reciprocate so we should not be friends. And I thought it would be mean to cut you out without saying anything but now I’m also thinking that I might have told you some things you didn’t need to know so if you want to go and never speak to me again that’s completely fine.’

Burr holds up a hand to stop the endless stream of words. His brain had stopped working after the word _naked._

Alexander Hamilton had a sex dream about him. And has told him. You don’t just tell people you had sex dreams about them. What are they supposed to do with that information once they have it?

Then he looks at Hamilton, and his irritation and confusion turns to white noise. The other boy has finally stopped buzzing, as though his admission has cost him all the energy he had. He’s standing quietly, no longer larger than life, no longer a force of nature, but just _Hamilton_ and Burr has never wanted anything more in his life.

He does what he never thought he’d do – he moves towards Hamilton instead of away. There’s a short pause where Hamilton looks at him quizzically, and then Burr leans forward and the rest is forgotten.

It has been a long time since Burr kissed anybody. The last time would have been Theodosia before she left, when they were trying to hold onto the illusion that it wasn’t the end.

This is very different from that. Hamilton’s lips are very soft and his mouth is demanding, responding to Burr’s hunger with plenty of his own. The kiss is urgent and consuming, the product of their combined nerves. Burr hadn’t known he wanted this, could never have dreamed that it would feel this way and yet here he is and Hamilton is the only thing he knows.

Throwing all caution to the winds, he moves closer still until he’s pinning Hamilton against the bookshelf. The feeling of their bodies pressed together is satisfying and exciting all at once, and without realizing it he angles his hips so that there isn’t a part of them that isn’t touching. He’s so lost that the rest of the world could be burning down and he wouldn’t notice. Or perhaps it’s them that’s on fire, the combined heat of their breath leading to spontaneous human combustion. Burr doesn’t care in the slightest; all that matters is that Hamilton is there and kissing him and he feels more alive now than he has for years.

A thud in the next aisle over makes Burr pull back instinctively. There’s a rush of cool air against his face and into his lungs; he’s breathing heavily. Hamilton looks a mess, his face flushed and large strands of hair escaping the bun. Infuriatingly, the sight of him so disheveled only makes Burr want to kiss him again.

Explanations, apologies and words of reconciliation flit through Burr’s mind. He’s incapable of thinking, let alone speaking and Hamilton, the master of leaping to conclusions, is not going to make this any easier.

Hamilton opens his mouth to speak and suddenly Burr knows exactly what he’s going to say and begins to back away. He doesn’t want to hear it and can’t deal with it right now, not when his mind is still reeling from having Hamilton’s tongue in his mouth.

‘Do you want to go o- ’ Hamilton gets out, but Burr has fled before the sentence is complete.

 

The rest of the day is an incomprehensible blur, a badly filmed movie about somebody else's life.  He concentrates on his work, avoiding interaction wherever possible. There's a terrifying moment where Laurens bounds up to him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and Burr is certain that Hamilton has told him. It turns out that Laurens was only proposing another pool session, which Burr hastily declines. 

He manages without any serious conversation until he's on his way to the bus stop at which point he hears a shout and glances over his shoulder. Angelica is running after him, her backpack bouncing wildly from the motion. The sight isn't as funny as it could have been as she's not dressed very formally today, but it still looks bizarre.  

'Wait!' she calls, breathless, and he reluctantly stops to let her catch up. 

'Is that a new backpack?' he asks, when she's reached him. 'I don't recognise it.'  

'It's Eliza's,' she says dismissively, and then, clutching her side, 'I should really run more often.' 

'You could have called me,' Burr points out, resuming walking. 'Phones are meant to be quite extraordinary means of communication.' 

'Mm, and that you completely blanked me today gave me such confidence that you'd answer.' 

'I did?' He can't remember seeing her. 

'Yes, on the stairs just after lunch. It's OK, but I need to talk to you.' 

This doesn't sound good.  'About what?' 

'Firstly, how disappointed I am.' They've reached the bus stop. She hops onto the slanted red bench, inviting him to do the same. 'You didn't tell me?' 

‘Tell you what?’ Maybe there was some Philosophy resource he promised to share with her and didn’t, or an answer to an additional question. This is going to be something silly and inocuous, he's getting worried over nothing -   

‘I know, Burr.’ She fixes her eyes on his face. ‘I saw you. In the library.’ 

‘I’m in the library often,’ he says, though his heart is thudding now.  

‘Yeah, yeah. Do you hook up with Hamilton often?’ 

He freezes. There goes all hope of this being nothing. She saw, and the events weren’t a hallucination, and now he's going to have to explain himself. Why don't alien abductions happen when you need them to?  

‘It wasn’t hooking up,’ he says. ‘It was just – ’ 

‘Teen angst? Unexpected lust?’ She raises her eyebrows, smiling.  

‘ – kissing,’ he finishes. It feels weird to think it, let alone say it.  

'Oh sure, and it was a coincidence that your bodies were glued together. You were _grinding._ In the _library.'_  

'It may have got a little out of hand,' Burr stares determinedly into the road ahead, dodging her accusing gaze. 'However I don't think - '  

'If it was possible for one of you to be pregnant you would be.' 

His head whips around to glare at her. 'We were _fully clothed.'_  

'Calm down,' she's still grinning. 'So how did this come about?’ 

‘My bus is here,’ he says pointedly, getting up from the bench. It’s true, the 795 has pulled in with impeccable timing. 

‘I’ll come too. It’s not entirely out of my way.’ And, entirely ignoring his protests, she follows him onto the bus and up to the top deck.  

‘It wasn’t anything,’ says Burr, for his own benefit as much as hers as they settle in seats near the back. 

‘As I said, it looked like something. We've certainly been waiting long enough for it.' 

‘Wait, what?’ 

‘You probably didn’t notice, but the two of you were being pretty obvious.’ 

‘Obvious how?’ This is the only thing that could make it worse, he thinks. Does _everyone_ know they made out? But how can anything be clear when they've barely been friends recently?  

‘OK, let’s review. You guys are bosom buddies, minus the bosom part, you save each other from mortal peril and then mysteriously and passive aggressively start ignoring each other.’ 

‘And that means what?’ 

‘You have feelings for each other.’ 

‘OK, no. There are no feelings. He dreamed that we had sex and I kissed him. That’s all there is to it.’ 

‘He did _what?’_ She’s positively delighted. ‘And he told you this?’ 

‘We are talking about Hamilton,’ he reminds her. ‘He thinks sharing is the solution to everything.’ 

Angelica starts to laugh. ‘As your friend I’m happy for you, but as me I’m also disgusted. I mean, I’ve already seen something that I’ll never be able to unsee without _that_ mental image.’ 

‘My apologies,’ he says unapologetically, glancing out the window next to him. A light drizzle has started, blending the urban landscape into a British stereotype. Here and there, cyclists stand out against the rain, made noticeable by their fluorescent jackets.  

'Accepted.' 

'And we didn't _save each other from mortal peril._ This is not a romance novel.' 

'It's starting to sound like one.' 

 _In romance novels there's actual romance,_ Burr nearly adds. He returns his attention to the window. Branches are scraping past the glass, from an optimistic tree that's grown out over the road.  

‘All right, all right,’ says Angelica, in the tone of somebody regaining focus. ‘Everything else aside, how was it?’ 

 _Terrible_ , Burr could say. Or even _not that great._ Both options are tempting, as the reality – _it was incredible_ – is only going to encourage her. 

‘It was a kiss, he says, casual. ‘It was OK.’ 

As expected, she’s unimpressed. ‘ _OK?_ ’ 

‘Yeah. I mean, what do you want me to say?’ He’s aware that he’s verging on mean now, but he can’t help it. He can’t tell her about how he’s been unable to think of anything else since, or that every time he’s not following a specific train of thought his mind slips back to how Hamilton’s body had felt solid and firm against his own. This is not information that he's able to process by himself; sharing it would only be disastrous.  

‘You’re useless,’ she says. ‘You deny me gossip and then tease me with this?’ 

‘I didn’t ask you to get on the bus.' 

‘You couldn’t leave me hanging, though. In my need to gossip I might have told somebody what I'd seen.' 

He sits up straight. ‘No – you can’t.’ 

‘I won’t. Well, I’m going to tell Eliza.’  

‘Won’t she tell Peggy? And if Peggy knows, Laurens will too and – ’ 

‘She won’t tell Peggy,’ Angelica promises. ‘This is Eliza. She might even be hearing about it from Hamilton.’ She tilts her head. 'I wonder if he's saying it was _OK_.' 

‘Are they that close? Isn’t that weird, when they’re exes?’ 

‘Maybe. I don’t know, but they get along. Even if it did get out, what’s the worst that could happen?’ 

‘Death? The end of human life as we know it?’ he shakes his head. ‘Let’s stay away from that.’ 

'More embarrassing things will happen in your life,' she promises.  

'That's not very reassuring.' 

'Mm. So what happens now?  Did you even speak to him after?' 

'No.' 

'But you're planning to talk to him at some point?' 

'I don't know.' 

'Great. It isn't like healthy communication could solve most of your problems.' 

'The last time Hamilton decided to communicate he significantly overshared,' Burr points out. 'Forgive me if I want to keep myself from learning anything else as disturbing.' 

'Right. The dream. Is it going to be  worth pointing out the glaring hole in your logic? You _kissed_ the guy. In most circles that would be read as encouragement.' 

'If _I_ don't know what it was, I'm sure Hamilton hasn't a clue. Look, can you let  this go?' 

Miraculously, she does. 'We're nearly at my stop. Well, the stop where I’ll catch another bus going the opposite way.’ 

‘Hey, you decided to come.’ 

'I did. And I'm glad I did. Also, if Hamilton has told Eliza I'll tell you, but I'm not going to say   what he said.' 

'What if that helped?' 

'No way,' she shakes her head.  'I'm not going to be your messenger. My role in this is the sympathetic and sometimes sarcastic friend who takes no responsibility for the consequences of my advice.' 

'I feel very comforted.' 

'Who else are you going to bitch to, if not me?' She says. Annoyingly, she has a point. 'All your other friends are Hamilton's friends too. They're not going to keep secrets for you.' 

Washington would. Not that that's any help; Washington is away and busy with his own life. He doesn't have time for Year 13 drama.  

The bus slows down and Angelica gets up. ‘Burr?’ 

‘Yes?’ 

‘I know you’re saying it’s nothing and meaningless but please, don’t do anything stupid.’ 

'Too late,' he says. 'You should have told me that yesterday.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update that didn't take weeks? I know, I'm as shocked as you are.
> 
> The 795 is a fictional bus - regular numbers go up to 699 and then a few in the 900s for mobility buses.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter or have any questions, please let me know in a comment below or send me an ask at betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things would be fine if it were anyone else. Anyone else Burr could cut out of his life and never see again.

‘Hiya, is this seat taken?’

Burr shakes his head, removing his bag from the seat next to him and shuffling closer to the window. The woman – an American tourist, from the accent and friendliness – makes herself comfortable. What any tourist is doing on the 795 at quarter to eight in the morning is a mystery. Perhaps she’s going for the Authentic London Experience of trying to navigate public transport during rush hours.

He tries to ponder it for as long as possible, but there isn’t much to think about and inevitably his thoughts slide back to the events of the morning.

He’d woken with a hazy image of white sheets in his mind. Remembering it made him happy, and so in the few minutes before his alarm went off he’d tried to remember what else had been in the dream. There had been somebody else – a bare chest, pale against his – and they’d been in the bed with him. _On_ him. Pieces of it start come back to him, slowly at first and then in a flood. Hot breath in his ear and strong hands stroking his chest, running along his jawline and then pinning him in place.

It was so vivid and familiar that the recollection brought a smile to his face, before it truly sank in who and what he’d been remembering.

Horrified with himself, Burr had to push the thought from his mind. He paid more attention than usual to breakfast, even taking the time to wash his toast plate afterwards. It doesn’t work. Even now, sitting on the bus, thoughts of Hamilton come chasing back into his mind. Hamilton against the bookshelf, Hamilton in the bed with him.

He is so, so fucked.

 

The American tourist gets off two stops before he does. Though not usually a person keen on morning interaction, Burr can’t help wishing she’d tried to engage him in conversation. Inwardly fuming at such a breach of bus etiquette would have kept him busy, whereas instead he’d just been sat trying to shake the thought that this was all his fault.

And it is. He was the one who initiated the kissing and now he’s never going to get that out of his head.

Why did it have to be _Hamilton?_ Things would be fine if it were anyone else. Anyone else Burr could cut out of his life and never see again. But Hamilton, well, he’s not the sort of person you can get rid of when you want to.

A part of him desperately wants to text Angelica. She’s usually good at fixing things, yet it’s that ability that’s now holding him back. He can only too easily imagine how the conversation would go.

 

_Angelica: (pleased at the prospect of more gossip) Does he want to date you?_

_Burr: (regretting this) Yes. I think so._

_Angelica: Do you want to date him?_

_Burr: (now wishing he had asked anybody else, including parasitic worms, for advice) No?_

 

And then that would spiral into a long argument about emotional attachment and probably a lecture on how it’s cruel to give people false hope. Burr can face that firing squad another day.

Even if he avoids that nightmare, though, he’s still going to have to say something to Hamilton. What can he say? ‘Sorry I kissed you’ or ‘I have no idea how this came about but now I kind of want to fuck you’? Nothing he says is going to do any good, but not saying anything won’t help, either. He’s not sure that there’s any way he can prevent himself becoming the bad guy.

What would be the best outcome, if he had the liberty to choose? Not that it matters, of course, as he doesn't, but _what if?_ That alone he's not sure of. The best idea would probably be for them to go back to their daily lives and never acknowledge anything happening. That way they could get through the rest of the year in peace, studying undistracted by hormones. 

When he considers that, though – _really_ considers it, his imagination supplying footage - Burr still feels like something's off. Not that he's disappointed, just that it's not the most beneficial settlement. 

Perhaps he ought to rethink his desire to follow politics; if he can't figure out his own problems how is he supposed to deal with Britain's? 

He’s still a mess when he arrives at college. The only good thing is that he’s finally able to give the gift card to Lafayette, who receives it enthusiastically. Burr’s struck by a desire to tell – OK, gloat to – Angelica, but hesitates when he remembers what she’s likely to bring up if he talks to her.

'Hamilton is 'off sick',' Laurens tells Burr, as they walk up to morning classes. 'Which means he and Mulligan have gone to visit Washington and see if they can sneak into one of his lectures.' 

'Sounds fun,' Burr says, a little flatly. Is he reading too much into this, or is Hamilton avoiding him? Not that it's entirely unlike Hamilton to miss class – if he decides that another activity will be more worthwhile, his attendance suffers.  

'They're working on the premise that as they're not uni students, the university can't do anything to them,' Laurens adds. 'I don't think that's quite how trespassing laws work, but I didn't want to burst their bubble.' 

'They're not going to get _arrested_ for being on university grounds,' Burr reminds him. 'Told off sternly, maybe.' 

‘Mm. Are you all right? You're quiet today.' 

'I'm quiet most days.' 

'Yes, but in a distracted way. Something wrong?' 

For a ludicrous moment, Burr imagines telling Laurens. It would be hilarious for the first five seconds and from there quickly transition into hell. Laurens is not only more Hamilton's friend than Burr's, he would feel the need to tell Mulligan and Lafayette and once those two knew everybody would. And yet while gossip doesn't have the same traction that it did in secondary – here fewer people know each other and they have only been here for a year – it could still make the rounds. He'd rather not be the guy who snogged Alexander Hamilton. 

(He doesn't doubt Hamilton would be unruffled by allegations, given the story Angelica gave him about how his and Eliza's relationship ended.) 

'Nah,' he says to Laurens, 'I'm tired. How are you doing?' 

'Also tired,' Laurens nods. 'Who isn't, really?' 

'AS students. They've still got hope. Sixth form might work out for them.' 

Laurens pulls a face. 'I don't know. AS was shitty for me.' 

'Oh, I'm sorry. How?' 

‘Disagreements concerning my future.' Laurens clearly doesn't want to go into it. ‘Parents have a very clear idea of the sort of things I'm supposed to do, and that would be fine if their idea wasn't completely different from my idea.' 

Burr's strongly reminded of Angelica. 'Sounds shitty,' he says. 'What do they want you to do?' 

'If I say that they vote Conservative, does that give you an idea?' 

'Yeah. But this year is better?' 

'This year is better. Though I have had to ban Hamilton from my house after he started a political conversation with my dad. Why, is your A2 sucking?' 

'It's weird. I'm not sure that it sucks.' It most definitely, completely and utterly sucks but he's not about to say that to Laurens, when it would only prompt further questions.  

'Weird can be good, too. It's cool having Hamilton around. I've forgotten what it was like without him, you know?' 

'Yeah,' Burr repeats. Subconsciously, he's started scanning the hall for the boy in question, even though he knows he's not going to see him. 'He’s fitted in.’

'Yep. Well, class is calling. I'd hate to break a habit and be on time for once but you probably need to go, right?' 

'Oh, yes.' It's nearly nine. 'See you.' 

'See ya.' 

The walk up to his History classroom is faster when he knows that he's not going to run into Hamilton. He drops into his seat with time to spare, vowing that he's only going to think about studying for the next two hours.  

The resolution lasts just over five minutes. He contributes to a class recap on their previous lesson's content and takes some notes. Then his eyes slide over to the empty seat next to him  and he's left again wondering what on earth he is going to say when he next sees Hamilton. 

By the conclusion of the double lesson, he's only made marginal progress. It is progress of a kind, though – he's got a rough idea of what it is he needs to communicate. It's taken him two hours, though, and he's pretty sure that the thinking is the easy part. He only has to picture Hamilton's confused face and all the progress in not being fanciful goes down the drain.  

Teenage drama is so much more effort than it’s worth.

 

Mulligan and Hamilton return to Richard Rodgers during lunch, both of them beaming. Burr assumes from that that their jaunt with Washington was a success, an assumption that proves correct when Mulligan takes them through a blow-by-blow account of the adventure. A lot of the details sound like they've been added for effect, though half the stupid things that Mulligan's saying Burr doesn't doubt that he and Hamilton would do. 

For his part, Hamilton is much quieter. He keeps looking at Burr when the other boy's not looking, and when he does speak it's very pointedly to everyone else. It’s a bit like it was last week, only now it feels more personal.

Burr makes it halfway through the lunch hour before snapping.

'Bathroom,' he says, getting up abruptly and leaving the table. He's got the foresight to take his bag along with him, so that he doesn’t have to come back for it.

He doesn't actually need the toilet, but as he's walking in that direction he ends up outside of it anyway. He's getting dangerously close to asking Angelica for advice, going against all his introverted instincts. It would be so nice to _talk_ to somebody about this – or rather, have somebody tell him that they can sort it out and do all the talking for him.

'Hey! Burr!' 

Hamilton has followed him. Cursing himself for not going all the way into the bathroom, Burr turns to face him. 

Hamilton is distracting in a different way today. His hair is loose, falling to his shoulders in a thick black curtain and he's wearing a grey cardigan that wouldn't look out of place in a hipster catalogue. His usual bag is slung over his shoulder and he's got an expression that is both inquisitive and nervous. 

'Yes?' Burr says, clinging onto the hope that Hamilton's asking if there was homework. Hoping for something innocent didn't work last time, but there's nothing wrong with being an optimist sometimes. 

'We need to talk,' Hamilton says, and then winces. 'That sounded bad. I'm not dumping you. I mean, at the moment there isn't any you to dump, which is kind of what I want to talk about, but when I said I'm not dumping you I was actually alluding to how that phrase is usually used. In films and stuff.' 

'I got that.' 

'Could we go somewhere?' Hamilton glances around the hallway. 'Not necessarily the library or anything, but...?' 

On an impulse, Burr pushes the bathroom door open. It's spacious inside, the big unisex one that graces the second floor. 'Here?' 

'OK!' Hamilton follows him inside. As an afterthought, he locks the door. It's only when he does that Burr realises how this would look to an outsider. People only ever go into this bathroom together when they want to get off. 

'When I said we need to talk, I meant you need to talk,' Hamilton says, dropping his satchel onto the floor. 'I think I've already made my position clear and I have no idea where you stand. If it didn't mean anything, that's fine.' His voice wavers. 'I'd just like to know.' 

There's a pause that elongates into a silence. Despite his repeated imaginings, Burr's coming up short. He can't think of anything that would make this situation better, even though Hamilton's offered him an out. 

An out, he's realising now, that he doesn't want to take. 

'I  - it's complicated,' he manages. 'And I don't know. But it didn't mean nothing.'  

Hamilton's eyes are a very dark brown. Burr has seen them be intense, angry and confused, but he can't read what's in them now. 

He’s being honest when, looking back, he can't remember which of them moves first. Maybe it was him; it was very possibly him, but he hopes that he's not so much of an arsehole that he would avoid saying anything more. Perhaps Hamilton saw that they weren’t going to be able to fix things and wanted to hold onto what he did have.

However it happens, the next moment Hamilton’s lips are on his and his hands are already gripping Burr’s waist to hold him steady. The motion makes Burr lose his balance and he stumbles, leaning back into the door. Hamilton moves with him, so now it’s Burr who’s trapped.

It’s like it was before, only impossibly better. Burr’s dream, hovering on the hazy outskirts of his memory, is entirely wiped away. Hamilton is kissing him urgently, as though he’s wanted to for years, as though they’re about to be separated forever and he doesn’t have the words to say goodbye.

Burr’s mouth slides open of its own volition. It was definitely a good idea; Hamilton desponds by deepening the kiss. Burr’s hands, now free, slide down Hamilton’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. Burr’s dream, however pleasant, had had an airy distance to it that separated it from reality. This is anything but distant. Hamilton is crowding his senses, insistently demanding all of Burr’s attention.

It doesn’t feel like any time has passed, yet when they break apart and Burr consults his watch it’s nearly the end of lunch. Blearily, they separate, avoiding each other’s gaze. Whatever words Burr might have said catch in his throat and Hamilton is out of sight before he can convince himself to say anything.

Thus starts the merry-go-round of secrecy. Neither of them acknowledges anything in public, nor do they talk properly. But between classes, at the end of the day, they find themselves in bathrooms and supply cupboards. If Burr had imagined kissing Hamilton again would satisfy him, he would have been mistaken. Each encounter leaves him hungrier for the next, and the danger level of what they’re doing on school grounds only goes up. Clothes are staying on – much more would require the talking that they’re so carefully avoiding – but the lack of progress in that direction only forces them to become more imaginative. Hamilton is a quick study, and Burr is happy to follow wherever he leads.

The only other people in the know are the two elder Schuylers. Hamilton tells Eliza, (Burr’s never told this for certain, but the way Eliza’s eyes dart between them gives it away) and either she tells Angelica or Angelica figures it out herself.

‘I thought I told you not to be stupid,’ she says to Burr, when their conversation inevitably veers in that direction.

‘I’m not,’ he replies, and changes the subject. Though they talk about practically everything these days, this is not something he wants to discuss. Angelica, with her string of pretty girlfriends, wouldn’t get it – thus making things unbearable for him. The settlement as they have it is working out. He gets to make out with Hamilton without the complications of a relationship, which is really doing them both a favour.

Because really, what would a relationship between them be like? Hamilton would annoy him and sooner or later Burr would have to break it off. Then he would be the villain and all their mutual friends would be forced to choose between them. And it’s not hard to imagine whose side they’d end up on.

So he doesn’t talk to Hamilton when they’re alone, and Hamilton returns the favour. At times it feels bizarre, the intimate knowledge they’re gaining about each other and the unspoken ban about asking for details.

The rest of Burr’s life is hardly any more normal. Under Laurens’ tutelage he’s improving at pool, to the extent that he challenges Mulligan to a game and wins.

He and Laurens are mock-celebrating when Peggy waltzes in. She fist-bumps Laurens and congratulates Burr. It’s a little like talking to a bath bomb; she’s got a huge blue bow in her hair and is wearing a gold sequined top and hot pink leggings. The ensemble is obnoxiously bright and yet still manages to be a Look and not a Mess. Perhaps it’s the confidence she carries herself with, or the strong scent of raspberry lip balm.

‘How’s it going?’ Burr asks her. Mulligan and Laurens are now playing each other, and he doesn’t know much about the youngest Schuyler.

‘It’s good.’ She hops onto the arm of a sofa to watch the boys. ‘Sixth form is much cooler than secondary.’

‘You seem to be fitting in well.’

‘Thanks. So’s Hamilton, which is good. He’s capable of being a social disaster.’

‘Of course, you knew him before.’

‘Mm. Is Laurens gay?’

‘What?’

‘Most of you are. By that I mean is he not straight, not gay specifically.’

‘Um.’ Burr doesn’t know. Laurens is capable of being quite camp, but that doesn’t mean anything. He has, Burr’s fairly sure, shown interest in girls. ‘Why?’

‘No reason.’ Peggy shrugs unconvincingly.

‘You could ask him,’ Burr points out, wondering what further social drama he’s about to be sucked into. ‘You too seem close.’

‘Mm,’ she says again. She’s watching Laurens as she takes a shot, and Burr realises that her query may be more than idle curiosity.

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,’ he adds, cursing himself for getting so involved. ‘He’s a good guy.’

Peggy just nods. The shirt Laurens is wearing exposes his biceps and every time he leans down to take a shot his muscles flex.

‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Half smiling to himself, Burr gets up to leave. He waves a goodbye to the guys, both of whom nod. It’s all fine until he runs into Jefferson in the corridor outside.

‘Burr. It’s been a while.’

About three weeks, give or take. He’s not going to argue over specifics. ‘Hi.’

‘Y’alright?’

‘Not bad. You?’

‘Same.’ He’d like to get away, but they’re walking the same way. It’s the most superficial thing, but now that Burr’s been reinstated in Hamilton’s circle he can live without listening to Richard Rodgers’ fashion crimes.

‘What are you up to this weekend?’ Jefferson asks, conversationally. It sounds alarmingly pointed, which is strange considering how little they’ve been hanging out lately.

‘Not a lot.’ As with nearly every weekend, he’s got homework. ‘What about you?’

‘I’m spending the day at my dad’s office. Like a weekend internship.’

‘Cool.’ Burr’s fairly sure that Jefferson’s father is a banker. Or a lawyer. Or something fancy that could have sent Jefferson to private school, yet for some mystical reason haven’t. Burr suspects that attending Richard Rodgers was some kind of punishment. Maybe for shopping too extensively.

Thankfully Jefferson doesn’t have much else to say. They reach the stairs and head in different directions. It’s remarkable how little Burr’s missed him.

 

It’s a Tuesday, so Hamilton reappears in politics after lunch. He strolls in with a new bounce in his step, as though he’s certain that they’d pine away without him.

Burr nods at him and he nods back, concluding the necessary interaction. They’re still sitting next to each other; it’s far enough into the term for changing to be weird. Burr’s only got to hope that their arrangement won’t blow up in their faces, given how awkward it could make class.

Hamilton’s good mood continues into his first argument of the day. He’s on better form than usual, his points more sophisticated and more fluidly linked. He’s starting to sound, Burr realises uncomfortably, like Washington. Like a politician, not a student.

(Not that Burr is paying much attention. The rest of the table have caught onto his technique of tuning out and it’s very it’s possibly the reason that they’re still sane. More amusingly, a couple of students started a betting ring. You can play for anything from dignity to cigarettes if you feel like taking a chance on who will interrupt the other first, how long each of them will speak and how soon Jefferson will insult Hamilton’s outfit.)

Washington’s influence is definitely making Hamilton better. When he finally returns to the group essay planning that was the assigned task, Burr breaks the silence between them.

‘You’ve been learning.’

‘Thanks. Yeah. I sat in on Washington and Martha arguing about fairtrade fruit.’

‘Martha?’

‘His girlfriend. She’s studying maths.’

Burr hasn’t seen enough of Washington to know that there was a girlfriend in the picture. So _somebody_ he knows is straight. Which reminds him.

‘Is Laurens gay?’

‘He’s pan. Why?’

‘Peggy wanted to know.’

‘Peggy?’

‘Yes.’

Hamilton thinks for a minute. When he speaks, it’s on a completely different subject. ‘When’s the mock? Last week before Christmas, or…?’

‘Yeah. So in a fortnight.’

‘Have you started revising?’

‘Not yet. It’s only a Christmas mock, they barely count for anything.’

Hamilton nods, even though it’s very unlikely that he agrees. ‘Did Timothy drop any hints as to what was going to come up?’

 _Yes_ would be the truthful answer, but Burr’s not sure that he wants to give it. Not knowing isn’t going to affect Hamilton too badly, the most it will do is give the rest of the class – including Burr – an edge.

‘No,’ he says, shrugging. It’s a safe lie, the hint was vague and brief and if anyone challenges him on it Burr can say he’d forgotten.

‘That’s a shame. Hey, do you want to revise for it together? We could get another study room.’

It’s an olive branch of sorts, a tentative offer of one-to-one interaction that wouldn’t involve kissing. This is the first time Hamilton’s suggested such a thing and Burr’s not sure how he feels about it.

‘I don’t think so,’ he says slowly. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think it would be a good idea.’

‘OK,’ Hamilton nods, a little too vigorously. ‘That’s fine. Really.’

‘Fine. Good.’ Wondering whether they are ever going to be able to return to something like normal conversation, Burr directs his attention back to the simpler world of his notebook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of an odd chapter - more of a bridging one than anything else. Despite that, it still took me far too long to write and get edited. 
> 
> I don't know whether it's a phrase used in other countries, but in Britain 'you all right' is often condensed into one word to form a casual greeting, often used in passing. I realise 'y'alright' sounds quite American, so this is to clarify that the word itself doesn't sound American, just that was my only way of writing it. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read and commented so far - you're all great and I love you.
> 
>  
> 
> If you have any questions or enjoyed the chapter, please let me know in a comment or in an ask at betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They walk to the bus stop together, determinedly avoiding each other’s eyes. It’s strange, Burr thinks, how being so physically close has created so much distance between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of like bonus content - it wasn't in my original plan but I added it after the first couple of chapters.
> 
> Hope you like it!

It’s a strange phenomenon, but the autumn term always feels the longest. Burr’s spent the weeks after the October half term looking forward to Christmas and the freedom of two weeks off. They’re bound to be laden with homework, making it a meagre reward, yet it’s still infinitely preferable to having to trek to college in the cold weather.

Before the freedom of the holidays, though, come the winter mocks. It seems pointless to test them on content that they've only just learned and will only have to write about in June, but it’s not like the British education system has ever needed to make sense.

It’s a good thing that Burr has his social life organized if not entirely sorted out, as he doesn’t have space for any more stress. Despite the mocks supposedly not mattering he can’t stop thinking about them. He’s expected to do well, which means that he doesn’t have the option not to. If he gets so much as one grade below what he’s expecting he’s going to spend the winter in a panic.

At least some of the other things are OK. They've handed in their History coursework; there's no more to do about that now. UCAS has been signed and sent, with personal statements paid for in tears, sweat and many hours spent wondering how best to subtly brag. It's a shame that universities wouldn't understand the magnitude of achievements such as 'being able to out-argue Alexander Hamilton.' 

The impending mocks are taking their toll on the others as well. Laurens always seems to have an energy drink in his hand and Lafayette's sleep schedule has entirely gone to shit. Mulligan says he's adopted the strategy of apologising to teachers beforehand that he's going to fail. 

(‘It’s best that they know in advance,’ he reasons. ‘That way I come across as pragmatic and intelligent despite my grades.’)

Meanwhile Hamilton flies ahead, untouchable. He seems to have achieved a utopian state of not caring about mocks – that, or he's so confident in his ability that the concept doesn't faze him. 

Burr's not able to complain to Angelica either; she's in a permanent state of exhaustion following the end of her familial feud about university. From what Burr's gathered through Eliza, Angelica _has_ won, but not without cost. Every time he sees her she seems to be half asleep and at the end of the penultimate week he discovers why.

'I'm going to the gym,' she tells him, after class on Friday. She’s remarkably alert, though that might be due to the coffee she’s nursing. 'You're going to come. It’s good for you.’

'I don't think I should.' He's never been to a gym, but it conjures up a mental image of people in lyrca judging him silently for his physical weakness.

‘Physical exercise helps with stress. What's the most that you do? Walking to the bus? Walking up stairs?' She nudges him and he's suddenly reminded of the image of her running after him a few weeks ago. 'You can always revise between push-ups.' 

‘And you’ve found it works? You look half dead most of the time.’ He realises once he’s said it how mean it sounds.

Angelica brushes past it. ‘Yes, but I feel much better about having to beat my father down about university. Come on, you get to vent frustrations while developing abs. It’s ideal.’

Seeing that he’s still hesitant, she sighs. ‘Look, just come? You don’t have to do anything apart from keep me company.’

To that, he agrees. He really should go home and revise, but he really doesn’t want to right now. All he does nowadays is revise. Well, that and make out with Hamilton, but the latter hardly counts as a productive activity.

‘I’m not dressed for it,’ he adds, as they catch a bus to the gym. It’s a place that does free sessions for Richard Rodgers students; he’s heard Mulligan mention it before.

‘No-o,’ Angelica agrees. He’s wearing cream chinos and a plain black button-down. He might suit an office, but among fitness fanatics he’s going to look absurd. ‘I did see somebody trying to work out in a onesie, though.’

‘Was it animal themed?’

‘Totoro.’

‘So, the gym. That’s where you’ve been recently.’

‘A lot of the time. When I’m angry I get a lot of energy and it’s not always best to expend it in an argument.’ She grins. ‘It’s going to do wonders for my fitness.’

‘Convert teen angst to muscles. It’s a sound equation.’

They get off the bus a few minutes later, Burr still unsure how much he’s committing to the role of supporting friend. He’s not found a different way of coping with stress, so maybe it could be good to find an outlet for it. An outlet other than pushing his luck with Hamilton in supply closets.

And – the thought occurs to him as they’re walking – if Angelica develops killer muscles and he doesn’t, she’s going to hold her physical strength over him and gloat endlessly.

He’s encouraged by the discovery that the gym’s not very busy, nor are there any students he recognises. He hovers awkwardly outside the changing rooms, waiting for Angelica and feeling more than a little foolish in his ordinary clothes.

She emerges after a few minutes, having secured her usual afro into a ponytail and swapped her shirt and slacks for leggings and a breathable vest top. It’s a lurid orangey pink, so much louder than anything she’d normally be caught dead in. Somebody else would make a joke about it, Burr just nods.

‘It’s your first session, so you can take it quite easy,’ she says, leading him over to the last free treadmills. ‘You don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find that none of your muscles work.’

‘Is that what happened to you?’ He gets on it and surveys the row of buttons. He’s not quite sure what most of them do, but the simpler ones seem to be self-explanatory.

‘Yes. I didn’t think I’d ever walk again.’ It’s odd to hear her come so close to being self-deprecating. ‘So don’t overestimate your ability.’

‘Thanks.’

The first five minutes on the treadmill are fine, if a little awkward because he doesn’t have music to listen to. The next are considerably less so, but Angelica’s going strong and despite her warning he can’t bring himself to give up yet.

After a while, though, it gets easier again. His legs ache and he’s running short of breath but it’s so nice to focus on something other than college work. From the treadmill he moves on to a bizarre machine that’s supposed to build upper body strength and then Angelica makes him hold her steady while she does squats.

‘You should probably stop now,’ she warns. ‘I don’t want Hamilton complaining that I broke you.’

Ignoring the jibe, Burr complies with the suggestion. He’s already sweating more is comfortable in his chinos and unfortunately doesn’t have anything to change into. The best he can manage is splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom and trying to mop up some of the sweat with paper towels.

Angelica takes fifteen minutes more and then rejoins him for the walk to the bus stop.

‘What did you think?’ She’s changed back into her ordinary outfit and let her hair down again.

‘I’m not entirely against coming back in more suitable clothing,’ Burr admits, trying to ignore that everyone can see how his shirt is sticking to his back.

‘How are things with your boy toy?’

He sighs. ‘Is there any point in asking you not to call him that?’

‘Nope,’ she says sunnily. ‘And how is he?’

‘Fine.’

‘I’m assuming you’re assuming that? Given that the longest conversation you have is probably _unzip my jeans._ ’

‘Nobody has unzipped anybody’s jeans.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes really.’

‘Sounds dull.’

‘Wow, thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

He changes tack. ‘Are you going to the Christmas thing? First week of the holidays.’

‘The Starbucks one?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yeah, I am. You?’

‘Also yes. I think everyone was invited, I’m surprised Hamilton will enter a Starbucks, he hates chain cafes. Oh shut up, he told me before.’

‘Mm.’ She grins. ‘About you two – I don’t know if Peggy suspects something is happening or whether she’s found out somehow. I’d be careful, though.’ Her bus arrives, pulling up in front of them. ‘See you tomorrow. You’re going to ache a lot.’

‘Don’t tell Peggy,’ he says. ‘See you.’

 

He’s barely come in range of his home wifi when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. Taking it out, he sees that he’s got a string of Facebook messages from Laurens.

 

 **John Laurens:** what would ur reaction be if I said last minute secret santa?

I’d do all the organizing

You would have to buy 1 gift and show up

 

He responds:

 

 **Aaron Burr:** Absolutely not.

 

There’s a short gap before Laurens replies. Burr showers and gets changed. He’s tired and thankfully not aching yet.

 

 **John Laurens:** so it’s a bad idea?

why?

 **Aaron Burr:** because it’s last minute

We have too many other things to do

And I don’t think as a group we’d be great at gift-buying

 **John Laurens:** what do you mean??

 **Aaron Burr:** Hamilton would probably get somebody an annotated study guide

You and Lafayette will go down the alcohol route

God knows what Mulligan would think of

 **John Laurens:** hercs given me good birthday presents!

 **Aaron Burr:** Herc?

 **John Laurens:** don’t tell him I called him that

the last time I did he threatened physical violence

in, you know, a friendly way

 **Aaron Burr:** Noted. What did he give you?

 **John Laurens:** my army jacket! The green one

 **Aaron Burr:** Oh, cool.

 **John Laurens:** where did you go after college today? u disappeared

 **Aaron Burr:** Angelica made me go to the gym

It was

Interesting

 **John Laurens:** you hated it?

 **Aaron Burr:** Not necessarily

I might go back

 **John Laurens:** I can’t see you as an gym-goer

 **Aaron Burr:** why not?

 **John Laurens:** idk like those guys are usually really into themselves

You aren’t that egotistical

 **Aaron Burr:** Thanks?

Why did you want to do a secret santa anyway?

 **John Laurens:** I thought it would be fun

And like

if I were to get someone a present & not be part of a secret santa

that would be weird right?

 **Aaron Burr:** That depends on the someone and the present

 **John Laurens:** OK. I might ask Hamilton

 

It would be so easy to let it go here and absolve himself of all responsibility, but for some reason Burr can’t stop.

 

 **Aaron Burr:** You are aware of Hamilton’s complete and entire obliviousness to common social etiquette?

 **John Laurens:** He’s not /that/ bad

 **Aaron Burr:** But do you think he’s the person to ask about social things?

 **John Laurens:** hmm

 **Aaron Burr:** You could try Eliza? She would keep a secret

 **John Laurens:** I can’t

ask eliza

 

It clicks. Burr’s amazed that it’s taken him this long.

 

 **Aaron Burr:** Do you want to buy Peggy a Christmas present?

 **John Laurens:** um

maybe

would that be weird?

 **Aaron Burr:** I don’t know

Did you see something she’d like or is this a desire to impress her?

 **John Laurens:** I keep seeing things she’d like

but the weirdness?

 **Aaron Burr:** Well                                     

What sort of gift are we talking

Are you going to get her all three High School Musical films or a teddy bear clutching a heart?

 **John Laurens:** what do you mean

 **Aaron Burr:** Never mind

You two hang out a lot so maybe a present is OK

But it might be weird if you get one for her and not for everybody else

 **John Laurens:** you’re right

thanks

but no secret santa?

 **Aaron Burr:** No secret santa

 **John Laurens:** all right

sorry gtg, i have to help my mum with her phone

(she doesnt know how smartphones work)

 **Aaron Burr:** Haha good luck

 **John Laurens:** i’m hoping this means she never becomes a facebook mom

alright

bye

 **Aaron Burr:** They call them mums this side of the Atlantic

Bye

 

 

He’s been dreading the mocks starting so much that once they have things aren’t quite as dire as he’d expected. Burr latches onto a hope of his studying having been enough and does his best not to listen to Hamilton’s panicked muttering about his notes.

Angelica is right about one thing – he _does_ ache after the first day at the gym. She persists in dragging him back and there is something cathartic in working out after a mock exam so he stops resisting.

In a gesture of pathetic fallacy so obvious that it’s barely worth commenting on, the weather takes a steady turn for the worse. Britain is never pleasant at the start of December and this year is no exception. Chilly, with a stiff breeze and drizzle that comes and goes, it serves as an eternal reminder that it’s only going to get colder and less sunny as the winter progresses.

The buses are, thankfully, marginally warmer than outside. They still don’t compare to the tube, but perhaps that’s not a terrible thing. All of Burr’s friends find themselves in the process of calculating layers, trying to find a combination of jumpers that will keep them warm while they’re walking and at college but won’t make them overheat on crowded trains.

Richard Rodgers itself is freezing. Some of the teachers, comfortably wrapped in in cardigans and sweaters, see fit to open windows and then tell students not to wear their coats in class. And to add insult to injury, only half the radiators work.

‘If I get pneumonia I’m going to sue,’ Laurens mutters on Thursday. It’s been raining for most of the afternoon, a cold grey downpour that’s much heavier than the previous drizzle.

‘Yeah, cause the college has so much money.’ Mulligan looks up from his chips. ‘Comes down to funding, right?’

‘I think they have enough to heat the building,’ Burr says. ‘Perhaps they can’t be bothered to check which radiators don’t work.’

‘We could give them a list,’ Hamilton says. ‘Walk round and test each one. It wouldn’t take that long.’

‘Better check that they’d accept it first,’ points out Burr. ‘Otherwise it would be a complete waste of time.’

Hamilton shrugs and looks away. Whatever the two of them do in private, so far it hasn’t affected their behaviour in a group.

Almost sooner than expected, the term ends. They still have a pile of holiday homework, (indeed, some of the staff seem to take the view that two weeks off are just two weeks of study leave) but Burr’s happy to leave his for the first couple of days.

It’s odd, how the summer feels like aeons ago and yet it feels crazy that it’s already December. He’d barely had time to complain about shops selling Christmas decorations in November before November was over and suddenly the celebrations were legitimate.

He doesn’t hear from Laurens again, and so whether he’d decided to get Peggy something was unclear. It’s so cold outside that he’s even starting to like the gym, for no other reason than it gives him a chance to be properly warm. If he really commits, he might be able to snag second place in their next arm-wrestling tournament. (There’s no point challenging Mulligan, he’s reigning champion for a reason.)

On the day of their Christmas meet-up, the weather decides to be more dramatic and rains heavily during the early afternoon. This wouldn’t be a problem if Burr didn’t get so stuck in traffic that he’s forced to bail out and walk the rest of the way, but he did and is.

He arrives late and sodden, probably a nightmare for the baristas. His friends have commandeered two tables at the far end, pushing them together so that there’s space.

He orders a medium sized hot chocolate and goes over to join them. Mulligan and Angelica are on armchairs while everyone else has a normal chair. There’s a clear festive theme: Lafayette is wearing a Santa hat, Eliza’s earrings are miniature flashing Christmas trees and Peggy is wearing a pair of red felt antlers.

Feeling under-dressed, Burr takes the single remaining chair between Mulligan and Eliza. Hamilton is round the other side of the circle, almost directly opposite.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Burr says quickly, taking his jacket off. Underneath it he’s relatively dry and it’s comfortably warm inside Starbucks. His frozen feet might stand a chance.

‘You actually bought something, the staff are going to love you,’ Laurens says. It’s only then that Burr notices how few cups there are on the tables for so many people.

‘Why haven’t you guys got more?’

‘Hamilton has refused on moral grounds to give Starbucks any money, Mulligan is being vegan for the week and Lafayette can’t face having his name spelt wrong _again,’_ Laurens rattles off.

‘The English,’ Lafayette says distastefully.

‘They always call me Lauren,’ Laurens holds up his cup so that they can see. He and Peggy have got matching frappuccinos and it’s very possible that Burr is reading far too much into it.

For some reason, on the other side of the room, Angelica is trying to convince Lafayette to buy her bread. ‘I'll pay for it,' she's insisting, 'and I'll compensate you for carrying it.’

'It will be stale by the time I return,' he objects. Burr's very confused for five seconds before he remembers that Lafayette is spending the second week of the holidays in France, visiting family.

'I haven't had any actually French bread in ages. C'mon, take pity on me.'

'I'd have to freeze it and I don't exactly take a _glacière_ on holiday.’

'Do I have to ask Jefferson again? I’d hate to owe him.’

'Jefferson bought you bread?' Hamilton interjects, incredulous.

Angelica nods. 'Last year. He was staying in Paris.'

‘And he had a coolbox with him?’ Mulligan asks.

'Yes. To keep drinks cold.'

Lafayette mutters something in French that sounds very much like an insult.

'You can buy baguettes here,' Hamilton points out. ‘France doesn’t have a monopoly on those.’

‘From _Sainsburys_ ,’ Angelica nods, while Lafayette glares. ‘It’s not the same.’

'I'd like to go to France,' Peggy, in the tone of someone thinking aloud. 'And I look cute in sunhats.'

‘While we’re talking about other nationalities,’ Mulligan turns to Burr. ‘Did you see the American this morning?’

'No. Should I have?'

'He was wearing an eagle hat and stars-and-stripes undies. I think he waxes his chest, it looks unnaturally hairless.’

‘Wait,’ Burr glances towards the window. ‘He was wearing just underwear today? In the rain?’

Mulligan nods. 'He'll probably have hypothermia now. I wonder if they’ll compensate him.’

'Who is this person?' Eliza sets her empty cup on the table, frowning.

'An employee of a fake American diner,' Burr explains. 'He's been known to stand outside to attract customers while wearing a range of strange outfits.'

‘Is it always the same guy?’ Laurens inquires, fascinated.

‘Yes,’ Burr nods, adding, ‘I don’t think _he’s_ American. The accent’s not convincing.’

Mulligan fakes being shocked. 'You can't destroy my hope in humanity like that.'

‘You knew his smooth chest and tan weren’t genuine,’ Burr points out. ‘From there it’s not a huge stretch.’

‘Do you think he’d keep up the pretense if we asked him?’

‘What do you mean?’

Mulligan’s grinning now. ‘He has to pretend being American, right? So we stage an operation where we walk past and strike up conversation. Ask him where he’s from, and wherever he says we say we know someone there. Like, _Wow that’s so cool, I have a cousin in Chicago.’_

‘I was going to say that London is weird,’ Lafayette says mournfully. ‘But it’s not the city’s fault. _Londoners_ are weird.’

Peggy interrupts then, and the conversation begins to spiral round as people start pushing it in half a dozen different directions at once. Burr’s happy to sit there, unengaged in any of the separate discussions that are happening around him. He’s a lot warmer than he was, thanks to the hot chocolate and the shop’s heating.

 

The Schuylers have to leave at six so as to be home for dinner, and shortly after that Laurens and Lafayette leave as well. For a time Mulligan acts as a third wheel, for which Burr is grateful. It makes sense; tricycles are far more stable than bikes. Yet by quarter to seven he traitorously abandons them, leaving just Hamilton and Burr alone together.

They look at each other, and through an unspoken agreement get up to leave the Starbucks. The rain has cleared up and the clouds are of the fluffy white variety. Outside, they pause. Neither of them is sure what to say. It’s as if the past month has made them forget how to make personal conversation.

‘So,’ Hamilton says, after a pause. ‘That was fun.’

‘You spent most of the time watching other people drink coffee,’ Burr points out.

Hamilton shrugs. ‘Still fun. What now?’

‘I’m going home.’

Hamilton tilts his head to one side. ‘Can I come?’

Burr’s so surprised that he doesn’t respond for at least a minute. ‘What?’

‘Are your family in?’

‘No.’

‘So could I?’

His instinct is to say no. Hamilton belongs in a part of his life that is very separate from his home. It would be bizarre and just _wrong_ to combine them.

And yet, now that they’re not at college their opportunities for intimacy won’t be that common. After all, the house would be empty. No one would know. And they’d get to proceed without being alert of being caught. And if it feels inappropriate to have Hamilton there he can say that his parents will be home soon and then avoid inviting him back.

‘All right,’ he says.

Hamilton seems surprised, though pleasantly so. ‘Great.’

They walk to the bus stop together, determinedly avoiding each other’s eyes. It’s strange, Burr thinks, how being so physically close has created so much distance between them. Neither of them attempts conversation during the journey, keeping their attention on their phones. Burr’s gone off Angry Birds recently, but he notices Hamilton playing and tries to resist pointing out the flaws in his technique. Instead he opens a recently downloaded Sudoku app and plays that for a while.

When he’s tired of it, he stares out the window. The rain has left the pavement shining and a light breeze is shaking drops of water from the twigs of leafless trees. The sight of it makes him feel oddly empty, or maybe that’s Hamilton.

Twenty minutes later, he’s cautiously unlocking the front door. While his parents would be welcoming to ‘a friend from college’ if they’re home he and Hamilton will have to talk to each other.

But they aren’t, and as soon as the door has closed behind them Burr has grabbed Hamilton by the front of his shirt and pulled him forward. Hamilton drops his bag, lurching towards Burr and kissing him eagerly.

They stand in the hallway, moving with the frenzied energy of pent-up sexual frustration. Somehow they both lose their jackets and Burr’s hands are inside Hamilton’s shirt, running across his chest and digging into his back to hold him even more tightly.

This continues for a time, until Burr’s immediate hunger has been satisfied. He eases off, releasing Hamilton and breathing out until it his lungs are empty. Taking Hamilton’s hand, he leads him through to the living room.

(Burr is adamant in his desire to stay downstairs. If he brings Hamilton into his room it becomes personal. The room is one of his favourite places. To let Hamilton inside it is to let him inside Burr – in a metaphorical, non-euphemistic kind of way.)

However, Hamilton gets the idea at once. In moments they’re lying on the fluffy rug by the fireplace, Hamilton on top. Being horizontal, Burr is discovering, is vastly preferable to being vertical. Hamilton’s weight is pushing him down so that he himself feels almost weightless. Hamilton is kissing his neck and _fuck_ if it isn’t the most wonderful thing Burr’s ever felt. He’s helpless to do anything but return the favour, his hands dancing down the boy’s back and tracing over his butt.

Then Hamilton shifts, his back arching slightly as he moves his body against Burr’s and Burr’s hips slide up to hit his. Hamilton returns the pressure, his breathing suddenly ragged. He shifts again, removing half of his weight and freeing one arm. Burr’s about to complain when Hamilton’s hand takes advantage of its new liberty to run down Burr’s chest and start exploring the area below his waistband.

Burr is most definitely interested. Hamilton’s returned to teasing him, keeping his touch light and his kisses delicate. It’s extraordinary care from someone so rash and hasty, and it’s driving Burr nuts.

Frustration builds inside him until he can’t take it anymore. Rolling over he switches places and kisses Hamilton hard, angling his body so that it’s as close to Hamilton’s as he can get. He’d never thought of himself as a rough person, yet now he can’t imagine being slow and patient.

Hamilton’s hand slides down to brush against the inside of Burr’s legs. Burr’s breath catches in his throat, he lifts himself off Hamilton so that he can unbuckle his jeans and slip them off.

It doesn’t matter that they will never acknowledge this tomorrow or that it may be weeks before they’re able to go further. It doesn’t matter because Hamilton’s jeans are off now too and his bare legs are pressing against Burr’s, and their shirts are gone too, and now Hamilton’s pressing a lingering line of kisses down to Burr’s waistline and he’s not going to stop there.

Burr will happily sacrifice all the conversations they’ve ever had if it means that they can keep doing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, shoutout to Elise (just-french-me-up on tumblr) for helping me out with French terms. She's a gem and if you're into Les Mis you should definitely follow her.
> 
> I know I've been saying this for a while but it's even more relevant this time: my exams are looming and therefore the amount of writing I'll be able to do is very little. After the 17th of June I will be free of studying, so I'm hoping the pace will pick up then. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos, bookmarked or commented on this fic so far - you're great and you make this process so much more enjoyable. 
> 
> And to anyone else who's currently taking/revising for exams, good luck!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘My new year’s resolution is to study more,’ Laurens announces. ‘I’m giving it a week.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any typos I sincerely apologise, I proofread while very tired so I may have missed things.

‘Good news or bad news?’ Laurens asks, as Burr enters the common room.

‘Bad.’ Burr drops onto an empty sofa. On the one next to him, Hamilton is chatting to the two elder Schuylers and across the room Mulligan is playing Peggy at pool. Laurens bounces between them, quite happy to emulate a yo-yo.

‘You’re such a pessimist,’ Laurens tells him, sitting on the arm of the sofa and looking down at Burr. ‘I got an E in the Geography mock.’

‘What’s the good news?’ Mulligan looks up from the game. From what Burr has seen, he’s having a surprisingly difficult time. Peggy’s style is erratic, veering between excellent and terrible. Seeing the game reminds Burr that he needs to practice himself; he’s been neglecting it recently.

‘I got a B in History,’ Laurens says proudly.

‘Well done!’ Apparently Eliza is the only one who remembers how to be a good friend. Either that, or she’s so bored with Hamilton and Angelica’s conversation that she was listening to Laurens.

‘I didn’t fail everything, but do I get a victory parade?’ Mulligan shakes his head. His irritation increases when Peggy manages to pot two balls in a row.

‘We can only process so many miracles at a time,’ Hamilton says, uncharacteristically abrupt. He’s usually kinder to his friends.

‘Be quiet, Mr. I Got Perfect Marks,’ Laurens shoots back. ‘Not all of us are still alive after pulling all-nighters.’

Peggy provides a distraction then by potting the black ball and so forfeiting the game. She raises a hand to her forehead in mock anguish as Mulligan laughs.

His attention diverted, Laurens leaves Burr and hurries over to her. Peggy’s smile grows when she sees him and Burr can almost feel their energy. They’re in that beautifully awkward stage where they have the confidence not to mind that they don’t know where they are with each other.

Burr glances around, noticing that the others have noticed. Eliza is smiling fondly and Angelica appears somewhat resigned.

Laurens says something that causes Peggy to mock shove his shoulder and Burr can’t suppress a sudden twinge of jealousy. They’re making it look so easy, a reminder that not every relationship has somebody as fucked as Burr in it.

When he thinks about it, it’s clearer now that he’d hoped that by relieving the sexual tension between him and Hamilton he’d escape the horrible process of having feelings. It hasn’t worked – if anything, it’s done the reverse. He’s even more hyperaware of Hamilton than before. For instance, now he could say that Hamilton’s talking about the value of standardized testing with Angelica, and – wait, he’s tensed and is watching the door.

Burr follows his line of sight and it immediately makes sense: Madison and Jefferson have sauntered in, their eyes fixed on the pool table. Mulligan and Lafayette have now started a game. They pause, looking at the newcomers.

Without saying anything, Jefferson picks up one of the spare cues learning against the wall.

‘We’ve only just started,’ Mulligan says.

‘I’ll play you for the table,’ Jefferson offers.

Lafayette shrugs. ‘Hamilton! Get your arse over here!’

Hamilton doesn’t need any encouragement. He bounds over, aggressive puppy mode activated. Jefferson doesn’t look too pleased at having him as an opponent, but he doesn’t raise any objection to Lafayette not playing the game himself.

Mulligan passes Hamilton a cue and starts setting the table up for a new game. Lafayette, Madison, Laurens and Peggy retreat to a safe distance. Madison winds up next to Burr, who at that moment doesn’t mind so much. When he’s in a good mood the most offensive thing Madison does is make puns, and unlike those that Mulligan and Laurens concoct Madison’s puns are usually good.

‘This is going to be great,’ Laurens predicts, sounding like he wishes he had a tub of popcorn.

Hamilton tosses a coin to see which of them will go first and Jefferson wins.

‘Yeah, if they both survive.’ Burr has seen school violence break out over pettier things than pool. Then again, he might be edging too close to the Holden Caulfield side of being jaded.

‘Again with the pessimism,’ Laurens shakes his head. ‘I think you need to get drunk.’

‘Wow, thanks.’

‘I mean it kindly.’

‘Yeah, I don’t doubt you do.’ Burr returns his attention to the game. Jefferson’s potted the first ball (yellow, so Hamilton is red) and won’t stop crowing about it. The lead doesn’t last; Hamilton catches up and it gets steadily tenser. It’s an interesting new kind of conflict for Hamilton and Jefferson, especially as while arguments don’t always have a clear winner this game must end in somebody’s defeat. They’re both showing off, Burr can’t help noticing. Jefferson delivers each shot with far more flair than is necessary and Hamilton is moving much faster than he needs to. So far it hasn’t led to either of them making a mistake, but there is still time for that.

It’s pleasant, Burr also realises, to be able to stare at Hamilton openly without it seeming strange. Their time alone doesn’t leave much space for looking and when they’re with the others Burr has to be careful. Right now, though, he can observe Hamilton’s changing expression as his fortune fluctuates and admire the exuberance with which he’s playing.

The others are significantly less absorbed; Mulligan is Snapchatting the game and drawing devil horns on Jefferson and Angelica is chatting to Eliza. From the faces Peggy’s pulling it’s evident that she also has Snapchat open, albeit on front camera so that she and Laurens can have dog ears.

To Jefferson’s credit, the game goes on longer than anyone else’s challenge to Hamilton. Jefferson’s definitely better than Lafayette, though not, it seems, better than Hamilton. The victory is close, yet a victory nonetheless. Jefferson discards his cue with a theatrical sigh, shakes his head at Hamilton and then departs. Madison nods an awkward goodbye and then follows.

Yet the victory is short-lived; as the sounds of celebration prompts a member of staff to appear and eject them from the common room.

‘We weren’t doing anything!’ Peggy objects in defense of Burr and her sisters, throwing Laurens & Co. under the bus without a second thought.

Without the others, though, there’s not much fun in staying where they are so they leave too. Once they’re together in the corridor, conversation resumes.

‘My new year’s resolution is to study more,’ Laurens announces. ‘I’m giving it a week.’

‘Mine was to drink less.’ Lafayette sighs.

‘I thought your mum banned you from drinking in the house anyway?’ Hamilton asks. ‘After your party.’

Lafayette grimaces at the memory. ‘There were words exchanged to that effect,’ he admits. ‘But there’s nothing to stop me drinking in the library.’

‘Beyond your dire mock results, you mean?’ Angelica inquires.

He glares at her. ‘What’s _your_ resolution?’

‘I went for the biggest cliché: work out more. I’m going to use the fact that I started in December as a defense.’

They go round, swapping resolutions as they had mock grades only a minute ago. Hamilton’s is ‘be more focused’, Eliza is going to try and cut Starbucks out of her diet (‘It will benefit my body and my conscience’) and Mulligan is trying to work harder on his independent projects.

‘Oh yeah, how did that internship go?’ Burr asks. Mulligan has mentioned it once or twice, but never in depth.

‘It was good. We got to do things from all different eras. You’d be working on a gladiator costume and then switch to an Elizabethan ruff.’

‘Was it just you, or were there other students?’ Angelica joins in.

‘Two others.’ Mulligan grins as he remembers a funny story. ‘One of them, he’s super into horses. We were stitching this saddlecloth type thing and then a couple of weeks later we saw photos of the finished thing. And Cal lost it. Cause you had a horse with a rider dressed all medieval, and the horse is made to look rugged and shit, and everything looks legit apart from the bridle. It’s a regular, modern bridle. You know, the bit that goes on their head? They didn’t even try to make it old-timey.’

Mulligan shakes his head. ‘From the way Cal acted, you’d think it was the funniest thing in the world.’

‘What was your resolution?’ Lafayette asks Burr, when Mulligan pauses for breath.

Burr pauses. He spent a while thinking about it, which inevitably led to a review of his life in general. New year resolutions always seemed to imply that you’re dissatisfied with who you currently are. And while his mock results weren’t quite as good as he’d hoped, he still did more or less as he expected. It’s …other areas of his life that are problematic.

‘I didn’t make one,’ he lies.

‘Already perfect?’ Lafayette grins.

‘Yeah.’

‘I take back whatever I said about you not being egotistical,’ Laurens says.

‘I don’t know, I think arrogance works on him. Put him in a nice suit and you would have a cold businessman,’ Angelica says.

‘Hey.’

‘OK, a businessman whose life revolves around puppies,’ she amends.

‘I can see that,’ Mulligan nods.

‘He and forest nymph Laurens could team up as a goofy duo,’ Eliza adds.

‘Forest nymph?’ Laurens doesn’t sound impressed.

‘Yes. Flowers in your hair, strategically ripped clothing and green tights. Think Tumblr meets Peter Pan.’

Laurens thinks for a moment. ‘Could be worse.’

‘Do I get to be the morally ambiguous sorceress in this universe?’ Angelica asks. It’s not really a question; as soon as she’s said it they can all agree it makes sense.

‘You could have Regina’s outfits in _Once Upon A Time_ ,’ Eliza agrees.

‘Who’s Eliza?’ Hamilton prompts.

Burr adds his two cents. ‘A less garish Glinda? From _The Wizard of Oz._ Big puffy pale pink dress.’

She nods. ‘As long as it looks nice.’           

‘Hey hey,’ Laurens nods to a poster tacked on the noticeboard by the stairs. ‘It’s election time.’

‘Election?’ Hamilton’s ears prick up.

‘For the student union,’ Mulligan explains. ‘Not that there’s much point.’

‘We didn’t have a student union at my old sixth form,’ Hamilton remarks. He stops to look at the poster, which is a risky move as it bears the words ‘VOTE JEFFERSON’ in purple cursive. The rest of them stop as well. Burr can’t tell whether Jefferson genuinely has loud taste or thinks that if he visually assaults his voters he’s more likely to get their attention.

‘It’s hard to miss,’ Lafayette says, in the tone of somebody who feels obligated to say something nice.

‘It’s horrible,’ Angelica says bluntly.

Hamilton seems more intrigued than annoyed. ‘Is he the only candidate?’

‘I think so?’ Laurens looks around. Mulligan shrugs.

‘I don’t think he is, but signups close tomorrow,’ Angelica says. ‘Am I the only person who reads their college email?’

‘I read it, but if it’s not important I forget it immediately,’ Laurens says.

Angelica sighs. It still feels weird that she’s now an integrated member of the group. Having previously remained on the sidelines to be Burr’s friend, she’s now got over whatever exasperation she felt for Hamilton and joined Eliza among the boys. They’ve welcomed her most enthusiastically, just as they have a more surprising addition – Peggy. Having enjoyed her time as the youngest and bounciest, she’s made her position permanent. Burr has nothing against Peggy being around. She brings _something_ to the group and perhaps it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know quite what.

‘Oh, did I say?’ Hamilton begins, as they resume the trek upstairs. ‘Washington can get four of us in to a lecture.’ He looks at Lafayette, Mulligan and Laurens. ‘What do you think?’

‘Sounds cool. What’s the lecture on?’ Mulligan asks.

‘Radicalism in politics in the 17th century,’ Hamilton says, as though nothing could be more perfect.

‘It’s about the protectorate, then?’ Burr interjects, but Hamilton keeps talking as though he didn’t hear. Burr waits for a little while, looking for his spot in the conversation. It doesn’t appear, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets Hamilton prattle on. He’s certainly had enough practice at pretending to be part of a conversation.

 

Burr eats lunch by himself that day. He doesn’t feel like being with the others, nor is he up to approaching Angelica and asking if she wants to come and mope with him.

He’s not moping, anyway. Not _really._ He’s just … well, taking some time to himself. Giving his brain a chance to work uninterrupted, without having to constantly accommodate the thought processes and whims of the others.

Walking to Sainsburys is all right, because you don’t look alone if you’re going somewhere. He gets there in plenty of time and takes longer than necessary to figure out his overpriced combination to get on the meal deal. (It’s £3 for a sandwich, a drink and a snack. If you get a sandwich that would cost £2.90 and a drink that would cost £2 you’re exploiting the system way before you get to the small £1.10 slices of cake.)

Having made his purchases he walks back to college, trying to evaluate whether he should eat the cake now or wait until after the main course. Due to the complicated nature of the packaging he decides to wait.

The food tastes good, but not the best it’s ever been. He eats in a stairwell, at the other end of the building from Angelica’s spot. It’s not boring, he’s got his phone to keep him company as well as niggling thoughts about things he could have done better when studying. Things he’s going to have to do better when it comes to exam term. The pressure has largely dropped off now with no major deadlines looming, yet he doesn’t feel much calmer.

Maybe because it’s only January and he’s already so _tired._ The autumn term took everything he had and now that he’s faced with the prospect of doing it again – _twice –_ he’s not certain that he can.

Perhaps that’s all right. Many of the others seem to be in the same boat and they appear to be able to keep going even when they don’t feel like it’s possible. Hell, that’s what life is a lot of the time. Just keeping going.

He’s brought back to earth by the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Anxious to avoid the risk of eye contact, he quickly immerses himself in his phone.

The person doesn’t do him the courtesy of walking past, though. They stop and sit on the lowest step, so that they’re facing him.

Resigned, Burr looks up. He’s expecting this sort of interruption from Angelica, but it’s a different Schuyler sister.

‘Just to clarify,’ Eliza says. ‘I was passing by and I saw you. Plus bad communication really annoys me.’

‘Bad communication?’ Burr sets his phone down. It takes him a moment to register that her mustard-yellow dress has a print of Van Gogh’s sunflowers on it.

‘You wanted to go to the lecture,’ she says. ‘Or you don’t, but you want him to have asked you.’

‘He’s close with them. It makes sense he’d ask them.’

‘Yeah, but he didn’t even consider you. And from what he’s told me, you’re fairly close with him yourself.’

This is such a weird conversation to be having with Eliza and it’s throwing Burr off. She’s so mild most of the time, it’s easy to overlook that she’s just as perceptive as her elder sister.

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘Nothing,’ she responds, surprising him. ‘Nothing to _me._ But you can’t shut down whatever emotional connection you guys have and then sulk when he picks his friends over you.’

‘I’m not doing that.’

‘Oh really?’ She tilts her head, and it’s honestly mystifying how she and Angelica aren’t genetically related.

‘I’m _not_ ,’ Burr insists. ‘It’s…complicated.’

‘I’m not talking about your Facebook status. Look, you can’t blame Hamilton for treating you exactly how you ask to be treated.’

‘I haven’t asked anything of him,’ he objects, which is technically true. There hasn’t been any asking from anyone.

‘Then _what?_ What is it? I mean,’ she hesitates, ‘we aren’t close, so I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. But I think you should talk to someone. Angelica would listen – however abrupt she can be, she does care.’

‘I don’t see that there’s anything to talk about.’

‘Because you’re entirely happy with things as they are?’

‘Yes,’ he says, promptly but not too quickly.

‘I don’t believe that. The way you look at him, it’s clear you want more than what you have. And I know he does.’

‘What, has he told you?’ He can’t mask the sudden defensiveness in his voice.

‘He doesn’t need to. I’m not saying you should only do what would make him happy.’ She pauses, thinking about what she means before continuing. ‘Only that it doesn’t seem like you’re trying to make yourself happy.’

‘And you think I’d be happy with him?’ He doesn’t know what he wants to achieve in this conversation anymore, just that he can’t see any escape from it.

‘Maybe? Why is that so impossible?’

‘Because he’s _Hamilton_ ,’ Burr says, finally speaking aloud the thought that’s been plaguing him. ‘We wouldn’t – fit. It would hurt both of us.’

‘I don’t know whether that’s true or not,’ Eliza tells him, getting up slowly. ‘And I have to go now. I’m not angry with you, that’s not my job.’

‘What is your job, then?’

‘I want people to get along. I’ve dated Hamilton, remember. I know him. I also lost him. And I can tell you how bad that feels. So believe me when I say figuring out what you want is going to help.’

‘Thank you.’ He’s very possibly going to ignore everything that she’s said, but he can appreciate the effort she’s made. Eliza ought to be an easy person to dislike – she’s so intrinsically _good_ – yet rather than making others appear dimmer, her light finds everyone’s good side and illuminates it.

‘See you later,’ she says, gathering her things.

Burr nods mechanically. ‘You too.’

She exits through the door behind him and he sits there for some time, pondering on her words. They bother him. Maybe because they’re from her. She’s Hamilton’s friend, he remembers. Not his. Yet she’s acting in everyone’s best interests.

He still hasn’t reached a conclusion by the end of lunch. Class provides a gratifying distraction, though by the end of the day the thoughts have returned.

Until now, he hasn’t doubted that he’s taking the right course of action. Certainly, it’s the most logical approach. It still remains the most logical approach after what Eliza has said.

He would love to switch everything off for a while. Take a break from everyone and everything and come back when he’s had time to think. Yet college doesn’t work that way and it probably wouldn’t do any good.

Jefferson walks past, carrying his posters under his arm. Since the morning Burr has seen the full range of designs, each louder than the last. Some of them have glossy headshots of Jefferson smiling confidently at the camera. It’ll be interesting to see how long they go before being defaced, especially as they’ve started appearing in bathrooms. Apparently unsatisfied with advertising in the usual public spaces, Jefferson has gone for the full-immersion approach. It’s kind of unsettling, to be able to see a glossy headshot of anyone while he’s standing washing his hands.

Jefferson ignores Burr, yet manages to do it in a way that feels pointed and personal. Burr watches his back, putting up those _stupid_ posters and feels a sudden urge to do something. Something to illustrate that he’s not an idiot, that he can commit, that he’s capable of doing some things without fucking them up.

Maybe it’s to prove that Eliza Schuyler doesn’t know everything about him or that he’s got agendas other than Hamilton. Whatever it is, it leads him back down the corridor and over to the lead tutor’s office. He can hear his heartbeat, a thudding reminder that what he’s about to do is either genius or completely idiotic.

‘Yes?’ Ms Lockwood, the lead tutor, opens her office door in response to his knocks.

‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I’m an A2 student, Aaron Burr. I want to run for student union president.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, a mid-exam period chapter. I can definitely say that the next chapter won't be for at least another week, though after that the pace should start picking up as after the 17th I am freeeeeeee.
> 
> As I said in the beginning note, I'm super tired rn so there may be typos or structural errors in this chapter that I just didn't notice so please let me know if you see anything! I'll fix it and get back to you.
> 
> As always I love hearing from you in even the shortest comments, so if you enjoyed it please let me know in a comment or an ask at betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton’s already outside the bathroom. His arms are folded and he’s tapping a foot impatiently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated. Like, really really sorry.

If nothing else, he takes her by surprise.

‘Oh,’ Ms Lockwood says, as though she’s trying very hard to sound enthusiastic and not like she’s being inconvenienced by the appearance of a new candidate right before the deadline. ‘You’ve certainly cut it very fine to enter.’

‘I know. I was deliberating,’ Burr lies. He straightens his back slightly, in a subconscious attempt to look like student union president material.

Slowly, Ms Lockwood gets up and from her desk and produces a form. ‘I assume you have a written copy of your policies, but you need to enter your details and summarise what your main focus will be.’

He takes the form. ‘My focus?’

‘The policies that you’re going to prioritise,’ she explains, turning back to her computer. ‘You’re allowed three, though you may advertise more on your posters as long as they’ve been sanctioned by a member of staff.’

‘Oh,’ Burr says. Of course, you need policies to run. Diplomatically phrased promises to sway the student body into actually ever voting. Maybe he can think of something while he’s putting in his name and student ID.

She hands him a pen and tells him to come back in five minutes. He doesn’t have to return, he thinks, walking out and placing the paper against the wall. Now that he’s realised the depth required for this plan he could back out and tell Ms Lockwood that actually he’s decided against it. Nobody else would know that he’d even thought of entering.

Yet somehow now that the paper’s in front of him he can’t stop himself from printing _Aaron Burr_ at the top of the sheet. What would be a good policy? He could promise something that’s easy to offer and will be rejected by the college staff, thus shifting the blame off him. Still, nothing is coming to mind.

He completes all of the form with the exception of the policy boxes, noticing that unlike the mandatory fields they aren’t marked with an asterisk. So he doesn’t _have_ to say what he’ll do as president. Maybe it’s better not to. After all, this way people can’t dismiss him on grounds of policy. It could be perceived as a mark of confidence that he doesn’t need to grovel for votes, but calmly establishes himself.

The posters are already taking shape in his mind’s eye. Half in a daze, he walks back to Ms Lockwood’s office and hands her the form.

‘Thank you,’ she says, only glancing at it before putting it in the tray next to her computer. ‘Remember, you are allowed to use posters and fliers as long as all the content had been approved by myself or another senior tutor. Distributing any gifts, food or tokens to potential voters is not permitted and will result in your exclusion from the election, as will the use of your position to display obscene or offensive material in public spaces.’

‘That all makes sense,’ he nods. ‘Thank you.’

 

Hurrying downstairs the following morning, Burr’s surprised to find his mother seated at the table. She’s engrossed in her phone, accompanied by a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal. Usually by this time she’s already left for work; she must have a late start this morning.

‘Morning,’ he says, dropping his bag down and heading into the kitchen.

‘Good morning,’ she replies, glancing up and smiling. ‘Toast again?’

‘Of course.’ He opens the fridge to get out the bread and drops two slices into the toaster. ‘Do we still have marmalade?’

‘I don’t think so, your dad might have finished it.’

‘We should buy him a separate jar,’ Burr says, looking through the remaining jars on the shelf. His dad may as well eat the stuff with a spoon, they get through enough.

‘What classes do you have today?’

‘Philosophy.’

‘Good?’

‘OK. I don’t think it’s as good this year.’

‘You used to complain about that girl all the time. What was her name? Angie?’

‘Angelica. She’s in a different set now.’ With a ping, the toast springs up. He butters it slowly, and then adds a layer of marmite.

‘How are your other classes?’

‘Good.’ It’s only partly true, because the other classes are the ones Hamilton is in. Aside from that fact though, they _are_ good.

‘Good,’ she echoes, smiling at the repetition.

‘And, um,’ he hesitates. ‘I’m running for student union president.’

She looks up in surprise. ‘Really, Aaron? That’s great.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, hoping that it’s the sort of thing that will make him appear the outstanding student she thinks he is. ‘I wasn’t sure about it, but I think it’s the right thing to do.’ Better to say that than to admit it was entirely spur of the moment. Certainly better than admitting it was at least partly to spite Hamilton.

His parents still know nothing of Hamilton and it’s best it stays that way. He’s been careful to drop Hamilton’s name every so often when talking about his friends but has never mentioned him individually.

It isn’t because he’s a guy – Burr’s parents are fine with his sexuality – it’s more to do with Hamilton himself. And it’s not like they’re dating, either. Semi-casual hookups aren’t really the sort of thing you can tell your mother about over breakfast.

‘I’m sure you’ll do very well,’ his mum says, finishing her cereal. It’s the type of oat and fruit granola that pretends to be healthy despite having very little nutritional value. ‘If you need any help with your campaign, let me know.’

That cheers him, slightly. She doesn’t have a lot of free time and it would be nice to get something good out of what might be spiraling into a disaster.

‘Thanks. I think I want to do something simple. Jefferson – the other candidate – his posters are glitzy to the point of horrible.’

‘So he won’t be hard to beat?’

‘You’d think that, but he has a weird way with people. As in, he’s so confident in himself that he believes everyone else is too.’

‘Confidence is attractive,’ she agrees. ‘Is it just you and this Jefferson running?’

‘I think so.’

‘Are your friends helping with the campaign?’

‘Uh, yeah. They’ve got a lot of their own work to do, but in their free time.’ He highly doubts that such an arrangement will be possible, a prediction that becomes glaringly true later that day.

He doesn’t tell anyone what he’s done, but just after lunch every student gets an email listing the election date and candidates. He’s surprised to see that it’s not only him and Jefferson – a third person is listed. And, as if the universe has decided to make things interesting, that third person is Peggy Schuyler.

Her policies, according to the email, include ‘promoting better relations between students and staff’ and ‘more lunch options for diet conscious students’. Jefferson, meanwhile, lists ‘a bigger budget for the student union’ and ‘more textbooks in the library.’ Burr will admit that the latter doesn’t sound especially terrible, unless Jefferson is only going to buy books for the subjects he studies.

Under Burr’s name, however, there is nothing. He’ll admit, it doesn’t look convincing. Maybe he can submit updates and have a revised version emailed round. First, though, he should look for the holes in his rivals’ campaigns. What has Peggy avoided and Jefferson skipped over?

He’s not given much thinking time. Angelica swoops in on his way to the library; cutting across his path and fixing him with an accusatory look. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

‘That I ripped off your opinion of Kant and presented it as my own? I was hoping you’d never find out.’

‘Fuck off, you know what I mean.’

‘All right, all right. I only did it yesterday.’

‘Yesterday afternoon. Which means that you had yesterday evening and this morning to tell me but you didn’t.’

‘Perhaps I knew you’d react like this,’ he counters. ‘Is me running for president so ridiculous? I mean, look at my competition. Thomas I’m In Love With Myself Jefferson and Peggy.’

It’s the wrong thing to say.

‘If you think I’m going to slag off my sister to support your ego you are so mistaken.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Really?’ Her eyebrows rise. ‘Because she’s the one with the organized campaign.’

‘I don’t want to have a fight about this.’

‘Then don’t make it a fight. I’m your friend, but not unconditionally. I reserve the right to call you out on stupid things.’

‘All right. I’m sorry I insulted Peggy. What do you think of this?’ he fumbles for his phone as they enter the library. The image he shows her is a photo of a Word document. It’s almost completely blank, apart from the words ‘Vote Burr’ in capitals.

‘Hmm. What font is that?’

‘Impact.’

‘Try Franklin Gothic in bold,’ she says. ‘That doesn’t constitute my helping you, by the way. That’s me not being able to stand badly designed posters.’

‘Thanks, anyway.’ He sets his stuff down with every intention of working and feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He takes it out, mouthing _Hamilton_ to Angelica. She looks very slightly less annoyed.

The message is just one word: _“bathroom”_

‘See you in a bit,’ he says, ‘watch my stuff?’

‘Have fun, idiot.’

Leaving Angelica next to a pile of his things, he leaves the library and heads up to the second floor. Is Hamilton going to react like Angelica has? Probably not. He doesn’t care much about Burr’s personal life. If anything he should be glad that _someone_ is running against Jefferson.

Hamilton’s already outside the bathroom. His arms are folded and he’s tapping a foot impatiently. His body language certainly doesn’t suggest that he’s in the mood to fool around.

‘Hey,’ Burr says. It’s more than he’ll usually say in greeting, but it seems necessary right now.

Hamilton says nothing. He holds Burr’s gaze for a fraction of a second and then turns to enter the bathroom. Burr follows, locking the door behind them.

For a half a minute the two of them stand there in equally stiff poses. It’s starting to feel like some kind of clumsy re-enactment of their usual activities, with the actors replaced with half-trained understudies.

‘You’re running for president,’ Hamilton says.

‘Yes.’ Burr crosses his own arms and leans against the door. Everyone is seriously overreacting about this. ‘Is this a topic we have to discuss _here?_ ’

‘I wanted it to be a private conversation.’

‘OK.’ He should have known that it wouldn’t occur to Hamilton that talking privately isn’t a scandalous thing to do in public areas.

‘Why are you doing it?’

‘Because I want to. Why not?’

‘But why do you want to? You’ve never shown any interest in the student union before. You have no policies. What’s the point?’

‘Are you annoyed that I’m running or that I didn’t tell you I was going to?’ Burr’s not going to take this lying down.

‘I’m not _annoyed_ ,’ Hamilton says, in a huffy tone that implies the opposite.

‘I’m not obligated to tell you everything,’ Burr adds.

‘We’re friends,’ Hamilton objects.

‘Really? Friends who ignore each other half the time? We barely speak. You take the others to lectures.’

‘You wanted to come?’ Hamilton shakes his head. ‘You’re the one who avoids me. You’re the one who can’t make up his mind what he wants. If we’re not friends, it’s because of you.’

‘Oh, that’s fair.’ Sarcasm is hardly going to help, yet Burr can’t suppress it. ‘You’re not perfect, Hamilton. You aren’t always in the right.’

‘How am I not in the right here? I admitted feelings for you and you proceed to toy with them.’

‘I’m not – and that’s irrelevant. How about the fact that you’re taking my running for president as a personal affront? This isn’t about you. I’m doing something for myself.’

‘Is that what you call this?’

‘I’m allowed to have political aspirations.’

‘You’ve never shown any before.’

‘Well, people change.’

Hamilton lets out a frustrated breath. It’s annoyingly attractive. ‘I don’t get what it is you’re after. You don’t want to date me but you want to have me. You want us to include you but you won’t include us. Am I not good enough? Is that it?’ I’m suitable to blow when your parents aren’t home but not for anything else?’

‘For fuck’s sake, how many times do I have to say it? This. Has. Nothing. To. Do. With. You.’ Burr’s furious himself now. ‘Perhaps, you know, if you gave two shits about my life I would have told you. But no.’

Hamilton starts to speak again and it occurs to Burr that he _really_ doesn’t care about whatever the other boy has to say. None of it is going to make this any better. None of it is going to atone for the fact that Hamilton can’t bear for the world to revolve around anyone else, even for a moment.

‘Just _don’t_ ,’ Burr says, cutting across Hamilton’s response. ‘Whatever perfect insult or essay on my faults that you’re preparing, _don’t._ I thought we could get along like this, but clearly it’s impossible.’

‘Are you what, dumping me?’ Hamilton almost laughs. ‘Well, go ahead.’

‘We were hardly together.’

‘Yeah, and whose decision was that? Actually no, I’m not going to complain. At least this way I can expend my energy on the people who are worth it.’

‘Nobody asked you to like me!’ Burr nearly shouts the words. ‘I had everything figured out and then you decided we were going to be friends! It was _you_ who wanted to know _me,_ not the other way around.’

Hamilton grits his teeth. ‘Yes, clearly I was deluded. I’ll make sure to be more careful when meeting people in future. I wouldn’t want to like them.’

‘Good luck with that.’

Hamilton makes a move as if to leave, and Burr steps sideways so that he can get to the door. With one hand on the handle, Hamilton pauses. ‘One thing. If you let this fuck up everything with my friends – ’

‘ _Your_ friends? Seems like they were mine first.’

‘Don’t kid yourself. They keep you around because somebody has to stay sober. They shouldn’t have to take sides, which is good for you ‘cause they’d be on mine.’

He does leave then, quickly, as though he’s trying to make sure that he has the last word.

Burr waits until he’s gone and then kicks the wall as hard as he can. Pain explodes in his foot. It hurts so much that he nearly falls over. He hops on the spot, clutching it and then leans against the wall he’s just assaulted. It hasn’t escaped unscathed; there’s a mark left by the underside of his shoe. He tries to flex his toes to make sure they aren’t broken and it hurts even more. It’s only a shame that he can’t blame Hamilton for this.

He swears under his breath, and then out loud in the hope that it will make him feel even slightly better. It doesn’t work.

 

Angelica is right about Franklin Gothic, it looks better than Impact did. He prints out a dozen posters and sets to work sticking them up around college. It’s hard to find space that Jefferson hasn’t already monopolized and there are even some ‘Peggy for President’ banners.

As activities go it’s not the most thrilling thing in the world, but it is distracting. The more he can focus on rationing his (limited) supply of blu-tack, the less he has to think about anything beginning with H.

If there is a worst part – and all of it sucks so much that he’s not sure that there is – it’s that he was low-key expecting this to happen. Sooner or later this had to end catastrophically. He knew that when Hamilton revealed his feelings and even more when he realised there were feelings of his own. That was why they weren’t dating, why they could never date. This was the only possible ending; it was only a matter of time.

With all the posters up, he runs out of things to do. He doesn’t especially want to go home; if he’s doing nothing by himself he’ll start moping. Spending time with Hamilton is far from ideal, but if the others are there it might be OK. Besides, it might do good to indicate to Hamilton that he’s not going to give up his friendships, whatever was said in the bathroom.

Walking into the common room, he notices an immediate difference in group mood.

Initially he’s self-centred and assumes it must be because of him and Hamilton. Seconds later he realizes that no one apart from Eliza and Angelica knew and even if they did they wouldn’t be acting in the way that they are. Mulligan, Laurens, Hamilton and Lafayette are gathered over on the sofas while an excited Peggy confers with her elder sisters. So not everything is about him, either, even when he’s sad enough to think it is.

‘What’s up?’ Burr asks, feigning cheerfulness and joining the boys. He’s relieved to see that Hamilton barely reacts to his presence – maybe it is only their private life that’s in danger.

‘Laurens has scored a Schuyler,’ Mulligan says with a wicked grin.

‘What?’ Burr drops onto the arm of the sofa. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Nothing happened,’ Laurens protests, though somewhat halfheartedly.

‘It looked like something,’ Lafayette’s enjoyment is palpable.

‘Laurens kissed Peggy,’ Mulligan adds, in explanation.

‘Really?’ Surprisingly, it cheers Burr up a little. ‘That’s great.’

‘Great? It’s _scandalous_ ,’ Lafayette exclaims. Returning to the interrogation, he looks back to Laurens. ‘How long has this been happening?’

‘Me kissing Peggy or me wanting to kiss Peggy?’

‘How far have you gone?’ Mulligan shoulders himself into ‘Is Laurens the perpetual virgin no more?’

‘He’s not a perpetual virgin,’ Hamilton says, and at the same time Laurens huffs, ‘Christ, we _haven’t done anything._ She’s asexual. Nothing is happening.’

‘What do _you_ know about his sex life?’ Mulligan rounds on Hamilton, who shrugs.

‘We drink and talk sometimes.’

‘So you two are dating?’ Lafayette asks Laurens.

‘As of today we are.’

‘I’m happy for you,’ Burr says, glad that he’s able to be sincere. ‘I’d be careful, though. If you upset her in any way I’m sure her sisters will be out for your blood and I’d really hate to be on Angelica’s bad side.’

Hamilton shudders. ‘Been there. Not pleasant.’

‘It’s not like I’m going to knock her up and leave her,’ Laurens contends. ‘If you guys could just chill.’

‘If you get married, I’m calling dibs on flower girl,’ Mulligan interjects.

Burr’s suddenly very relieved that his and Hamilton’s – affair?’ – is a secret. Was a secret.

Laurens shakes his head in despair. ‘Jesus, I’m seventeen. Save it for Hamilton’s next girl.’

‘Of course, you are dating a younger woman,’ Hamilton starts, joining in the teasing. Burr takes the moment to look away over towards the girls. Peggy has calmed a little, though she’s still gesturing enthusiastically. Her joy is infectious; both her sisters look almost as happy as she is.

He wants to join them, to be good enough friends with Eliza and Peggy to walk over and offer his congratulations. As it is, the best he can do is catch Angelica’s eye and smile. She returns the gesture, though her eyes have flickered over to Hamilton and there will be a day when she’s not able to figure stuff out at a glance but it’s probably not today.

Still, if things like this exist then perhaps the world is not ending. Or maybe it’s just Burr’s personal corner that’s undergoing an apocalypse. He can live with that – or more importantly, he can survive that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'When I'm done with exams, I'll get writing done!' i thought. Naively. Then my exams were over, I was suddenly working more days, going on holiday, returning and working again. All of which was exhausting, and so little writing happened. That's also why this chapter is quite short. Very sorry, and huge thanks to everyone who's following, reading and commenting on this fic!
> 
> Not sure if anyone's noticed this yet, but I'm aware it doesn't make sense for A2 students to be running for student union president. They'd be elected and then leave almost immediately. However I'm gonna hold up a sign that says 'Plot Reasons' and lurk behind it.
> 
> Also to recap on length; this should be 15/16 chapters in total. I can't be toootally sure because I'm not yet certain of how I'm gonna do the next couple, so some of the plans might be absorbed into each other to make longer, more coherent chapters. However long it is, though, I promise I'll let you know when it's the penultimate chapter.
> 
> Again, thank you so much to everyone who's read this, left kudos and taken the time to comment. Seeing numbers in my inbox makes my heart to a happy thing, and when I read your lovely remarks it does it again. If you don't have an account/would rather address it on tumblr, my url is the same as my ao3 username so feel free to drop me an ask :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s good that they’re so happy. It’s good that somebody is happy, when his life is one shit moment after another.

Quietly observing Peggy’s campaign over the next week, Burr can’t figure out whether she’s doing it in earnest or whether it’s some sort of joke. If it is a joke, it’s a very committed one; she dedicates her time to making pamphlets rather than hanging out with her friends and will talk about her aims at any given opportunity.

Yet at the same time, one of these aims is to ‘remove awkwardness in bathrooms by playing music’. He assumes the awkwardness she’s referring to is listening to your friends pee, which gets funnier the longer he thinks about it. It’s very much the policy of somebody who has never used (or been in a bathroom with) a urinal.

However amusing her policies are, Peggy has two votes already. Eliza and Angelica have both promised to support their sister, in a move that is both tactically neutral as well as the dutiful sibling thing to do. Neither of them will take a side in the newly appearing split between Burr and Hamilton – though they’ve got to be the only ones out of their friends that know about it.

Keeping the fight secret is turning out to be more work than hiding their affair. ( _Affair_ being a ridiculous word, one that makes Burr think of red lipstick and people in suits texting each other in the shower, but he can’t think of a better way to describe it. Friends with benefits suggests more sexual acts and a fling sounds even sillier.) Making out in quiet spots wasn’t detrimental to their public life, not in the way that this is. When Hamilton speaks, Burr has to bite back the sarcastic retorts and every time Burr’s talking to anyone other than Angelica he can feel Hamilton’s eyes on him.

This is the sort of time that Burr would like to bury himself in work. It’s what he’s always done in the past if social drama arises; find the next homework assignment and shut himself in the library to revise. Theoretically, there should be more than enough things to keep him occupied. He’s got essays to do in both History and Politics, ought to revise functionalism before the next Philosophy class and needs to stay on top of his campaigning game if he’s going to beat Jefferson.

He’s got no opinion polls to tell him how he’s doing, though as far as he can tell he’s not any less popular than the other two. He’s asked about submitting policies later and has been told he can’t. The deadline for candidates was also the deadline for their campaign. The minimalist look will have to power through on its own and he’s made up his mind to act as if it was intentional. He wouldn’t himself trust a candidate who made a mistake that big and so it’s essential that he pretends it’s part of an obscure plan.

 _People complain that all politicians are the same, so I thought I wouldn’t bother with a bunch of slogans that no-one will believe anyway._ That sounds good. If he’s got enough arrogance, he might just get away with it.

However busy he keeps though, he keeps coming back to Hamilton. He’s missing him more than he thought he was going to. Their group conversations are just as stilted as they ever were but now they have no snatched intimacy to make up for it.

His body misses Hamilton, too. He got so used to having someone there, physically, and the empty space is jarring. Nor does it help that he starts having dreams about him again.

‘Are you all right?’ Mulligan asks Burr, dropping into the seat next to him.

‘Yes,’ Burr replies, slightly annoyed at the company. He wishes people wouldn’t speak to him when he’s in the library, he’s really trying to write this essay and people get kicked out all the time for chatting.

‘Really? ‘Cause you’ve written,’ he squints, ‘2,500 words for a 1,000 word essay.’

‘I’m being thorough,’ Burr mutters, keeping his eyes on the screen.

‘I think you crossed the line from thorough to obsessed a thousand words ago. Come hang with us, it’ll do you good.’

‘I haven’t finished this.’

‘Jesus. You need to get laid or something.’

‘That isn’t always the solution,’ Burr says, trying not to reveal that his stomach has just backflipped.

‘It would relax you,’ Mulligan insists.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why? Have you already tried it?’

‘The librarians are giving you death glares, you should probably go.’

‘Aha!’ Mulligan is far too triumphant. ‘You _have_ slept with somebody. Have you?’

‘No.’

‘Is that the problem? Do you want – ’

‘Shh!’ Burr hisses. One of the librarians is heading their way with an armful of books to reshelve and is already looking annoyed.

‘All right, all right.’ Mulligan rises. ‘Tell me about it another time. Oh hey, I got a riddle for you. What is a chicken both inside of an outside of?’

Both wanting Mulligan to go away and to get it right, Burr takes a minute to think. ‘An egg?’

‘No, you idiot, a coop.’ Pleased with himself, Mulligan saunters off leaving an exasperated Burr staring at an essay that’s really inexcusably long.

 

 

After wrestling with the conclusion for forty minutes he ends up with a draft that he’s grudgingly happy with. It’s not due until the end of the week, but if he submits it now there’s a chance Timothy will be able to mark it before the others.

Gathering up his things, he prints the essay and takes it up to the History offices. Timothy is surprised to receive it and taken aback by the length, though he commends Burr for handing it in so early.

Feeling a pleasant buzz from having done something right, Burr heads downstairs again. He’s nearing the second floor when he hears a female voice shouting – and a beat later identifies it as Peggy’s.

‘Hey! Leave it alone! Stop!’

She sounds angry rather than scared, but he speeds up anyway. Rounding the corner he sees her standing next to two tall AS boys, who are laughing and tearing one of her campaign posters off the wall.

‘I spent ages on those!’ she’s positively spitting, but there isn’t much she can do. She’s half their height and unless she has secret martial arts skills that she’s been hiding her only options are to stand and shout.

‘Hey!’ Burr jumps down the last couple of steps. ‘You heard her, leave that alone!’

The boys pause, looking at him. He’s older, but they’re bigger and there are two of them. He can see them making the same calculations.

‘What are you gonna do?’ the larger of the two grins, crossing his arms across his chest.

‘Um.’ Wading into physical altercations, that’s Hamilton’s gig. Burr would much rather win with the law on his side. Peggy’s looking at him hopefully, though, and now he’s here he can’t back down.

The boys walk up to him, their interest in Peggy fading. They can’t start anything huge without the risk of getting caught, but at the same time they can still do enough for it to hurt. Burr looks up at them, telling himself to let them make the first move. Once they have he can hit back and perhaps if he puts up enough of a fight they’ll decide it’s too much hassle.

‘Hey!’ Peggy shouts again, but it isn’t an angry call. She’s addressing somebody else, which confuses Burr until he sees the tall shapes of Lafayette and Mulligan appear at the top of the stairs. He’s so relieved that he doesn’t care that they’re ruining his (admittedly pathetic) moment.

To the AS boys, he says, ‘Oh hey, my mates are here.’

They turn hastily, stare for a moment and then back down. He watches them climb the stairs he’d descended only a couple of minutes ago and feels a stab of irritation that he’d been useless.

‘Thanks,’ he says to Lafayette, who dismisses it with a shrug. Good thing Hamilton wasn’t here; he would have thrown punches without realizing he could get by with silent intimidation.

Not that Hamilton is ever silent. Or that he’d come to Burr’s aid.

‘Thanks,’ Peggy says, picking up the pieces of the poster that were on the floor. It’s been torn in half; she takes the other half off the wall and crumples it up. Her voice is much quieter and her usual energy has faded a little.

‘Are you OK?’ Burr asks her gently, taking the ruined scraps of paper from her and stuffing them into his back pocket.

‘Fine,’ she says, so cautiously that he wants to roast the boys alive for making her feel so small.

‘Everyone says your posters are better than mine,’ he adds, which earns a smile. She begins walking downstairs and he follows, keeping pace.

‘We’re going to play pool,’ Mulligan says, falling into step on Peggy’s other side. ‘You want to come?’

‘I have a lunch date,’ she says, a slight smile reappearing. ‘But thanks.’

‘You and Laurens are gross,’ says Lafayette, desiring to keep the small talk going. ‘It’s like a movie.’

‘Hideous,’ Burr agrees, because it has the best chance of cheering her up. ‘You’re one of those sickening couples that exist just to make everyone bitter.’

‘Well,’ Peggy says, ‘we _have_ been learning Disney duets.’

Burr mock groans.

‘Something that really gets me,’ Mulligan begins, ‘is when you get those Disney playlists and _Love Is An Open Door_ is on there. It’s a terrible love song. Hans is planning to murder Anna.’

‘It’s fun to sing, though,’ Peggy counters. ‘You can always make the songs work for you.’

By the time they reach the canteen, she’s much happier and some of Burr’s anger has faded. Just thinking about Laurens and Peggy is enough to lighten the mood. They _are_ horrifically cute. Whereas other couples spend time establishing a dynamic, they’ve leapt straight into couple mode: holding hands in corridors, draping their arms around the other’s shoulders and generally interacting with everyone else as a unit.

It’s good that they’re so happy. It’s good that _somebody_ is happy, when his life is one shit moment after another.

Peggy finds Laurens and whisks him off to Starbucks, leaving Burr with Lafayette and Mulligan. He’s begun to feel anxious, having noticed as soon as they walked in that Hamilton was on the other side of the room.

He hates it, being hyper-aware of where Hamilton is. It’s that feeling of having a crush and always wanting to be near them, except the sight of him is like a hand squeezing his intestines. He’d like nothing better to be oblivious of Hamilton – as Hamilton probably is of him – but is grimly aware that the chances of that happening are minimal.

Naturally, being unaware that anyone is trying to avoid anyone else, Mulligan and Lafayette walk over to Hamilton. Lafayette wants to challenge him at pool, and as Burr can’t find an excuse fast enough he gets dragged along too.

He stands to the side, avoiding Hamilton’s eyes as Mulligan tells the story of the AS boys and the poster. This leads the conversation back to the election and to whether Jefferson can actually be elected by using glossy headshots.

‘Who’s actually supporting him, though?’ Mulligan asks, thinking. ‘I mean, Peggy’s got her sisters and Burr has us – who apart from Madison is going to vote Jefferson?’

‘You’re voting for me?’ Burr asks, pleased if not hugely surprised.

‘I really didn’t want to, but I can’t do anything else,’ Mulligan says, and then laughs. ‘What sort of monster do you think I am? Course I’m voting for you.’

‘So am I,’ Lafayette adds, as though anxious to clarify. ‘Peggy is sweet, but you would make a better president.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re voting for him right?’ Mulligan looks at Hamilton, who looks away.

‘Who _are_ you voting for?’ It’s a terrible idea to ask the question, yet the question tumbles from Burr’s mouth.

Hamilton looks back to meet his eyes. ‘Jefferson,’ he says. ‘I don’t like him, but I believe he has the conviction a president needs.’

‘Unlike David Cameron,’ Lafayette remarks, prompting a laugh from Mulligan. Both Hamilton and Burr remain stony-faced, watching each other.

‘Jefferson and Cameron,’ Mulligan says, noticing the stare-off and attempting to involve both of them. ‘Not a comparison I thought I’d see, yet one that could make sense.’

‘Jefferson has much better hair,’ says Lafayette.

Their words may as well be white noise. Burr can’t tear his eyes from Hamilton, who’s gazing back unapologetically. He wants to demand whether Hamilton’s really going to be that petty, going to let a private squabble in the way of college politics, but he can’t open his mouth. He can’t move at all.

For some reason, this is a betrayal greater than their fight. Hamilton didn’t need to vote for Burr, he could have said he was supporting Peggy and everything would be fine. He could even have said that Peggy had personally asked him; it would sound believable.

But no, he’s going to support Jefferson just to spite Burr. That’s what it’s come down to. Burr tries to swallow, but his throat seems to have closed up. He’s missed Hamilton, but he hasn’t thought that their fight was _that_ serious until now. It seemed like one of the things that would appear really important at the time and they would make up at some later date. Maybe they wouldn’t go back to where they were, but they’d be OK.

This, though. If Hamilton would genuinely rather support somebody he hated than Burr, perhaps the damage is irreparable.

(Because Burr had wanted to repair it. The feeling wasn’t even that deep down, for however angry he was he couldn’t deny Hamilton meant _something_ to him. Something that he missed and wanted back.)

The moment he regains sufficient feeling in his legs to be able to move, he steps away.

‘I’ve got homework to finish.’

‘You’re joking, not another 2,000 word essay?’ Mulligan reaches for his arm, but Burr’s already too far away.

‘No – important things,’ Burr gabbles, and leaves the hall as quickly as he can without running. It’s suddenly important to get as far away as possible, in the hope of finding somewhere secluded enough that he is unreachable and untouchable.

It’s typical of Hamilton’s excellence that he can find a way to be hurtful even when they’ve already separated.

 

Unable to face more homework, Burr curls up on his bed with _Frankenstein._ It’s a book he can normally get into, though today it gives him some trouble. It’s possible that nothing is going to be enough of a distraction, regardless of how hard he tries.

He’s on the third chapter when there’s a knock on his door, and then his mum’s voice. ‘Aaron, are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ he calls, but she opens the door anyway and comes in. She got home after him, and is still in her work suit.

‘Your dad said you were upset.’

‘I’m fine,’ he repeats, marking his page with an old receipt and setting the book down. Once she’s here to talk, she won’t leave until there’s been some connection made.

‘You don’t look fine,’ she sits on the edge of his bed.

‘Wow, thanks.’

She frowns at the sarcasm. ‘Is something up? Is it the election?’

‘No.’

‘Relationship drama?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Girl? Boy?’

‘Boy.’ He exhales. ‘But it’s not like that. I mean it is, but we aren’t – we don’t – it isn’t anything.’

‘I see.’

‘I don’t.’

She laughs, but not in the way Angelica does, where it’s both affectionate and just a little bit mean. It’s a proper, warm laugh that makes him wish he spoke to her about stuff like this more often.

‘College is messy. Sometimes things work out and sometimes they don’t. You’ve only got a few more months together.’

‘We have two terms.’

‘Yes, but after that is university. You’ll all float off and you _can_ stay friends but you don’t have to.’

She has a point. ‘It’s the now that sucks, though.’

‘I know.’

‘How are you supposed to know whether you’re right or not? People – a person – is pissed off with me and I have no idea whether he’s right to be.’ He stares at the floor. ‘I can’t ask anyone else whether I’m overreacting or he is or if we both are. _I don’t know._ ’

‘Nobody does,’ she smiles sympathetically. ‘That’s the problem. When you’re at your age, everyone is still figuring everything out. Who to like, how relationships work, what they’re expected to do and whether they want to do any of it. Nobody has a clue and it’s infuriating.’

He sighs. ‘I’m beginning to get that. So when does it get better?’

‘I’m not sure that it does. During university you slowly start to figure out not knowing what’s going on, and it stays like that.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘Do you want to tell me about him? The boy?’

‘He’s… terrible. And I ruined things – or he did – and I’m not even surprised. It was inevitable. But I don’t know if it’s fixable.’

‘Do you want to fix it?’

‘I think so? Maybe not yet.’ It won’t be over now until after the election, he realises. The competition between Jefferson, Peggy and him will now facilitate the argument with Hamilton.

‘Does he want to fix it?’

Hamilton’s expression comes back to him, coldly blank. _Jefferson. I don’t like him, but I believe he has the conviction a president needs._ Hamilton never does things by halves.

‘I don’t know. Probably not.’ Hearing it out loud makes it sound a lot worse. ‘He’s a committed person.’

‘I’m sorry. Can I do anything?’

‘No. Thanks.’

‘How’s the book?’ she nods to _Frankenstein._

‘Less gripping now I’m reading it for the third time.’

‘I’m sure. Look, I should start reviewing case files, but if you want to talk about this again or if anything else happens – ’

‘I know. Thanks.’

She smiles again, and remembers to close the door when she leaves. He sits there for a while more, contemplating the book without opening it. Perhaps he can become a hermit. Or he can have another go at being a nerd who’s so wrapped up in their studies that they have no friends and therefore no drama.

Anything has to be better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that this chapter is so short and so late! Time keeps running away from me.
> 
> To explain the David Cameron joke, he was our Prime Minister and has just resigned following the Brexit vote (to be replaced by Theresa May). If we're supposing that this fic is still at the beginning of 2016, the reference makes no sense but I wanted to put it in anyway.
> 
> Also, the policy regarding music in bathrooms was suggested by somebody at my college at a student union meeting. JS. 
> 
> Thank you so much everyone who's bookmarked, commented and left kudos - you guys are amazing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The speculation is useless, so he pushes it away. It doesn’t matter what he meant to Hamilton when he clearly means so little now.

A problem that Burr hadn’t thought about until later that day was the way that Hamilton’s sudden mysterious allegiance to Jefferson brought their dispute into the open. For Lafayette and Mulligan it must have been extremely obvious and he thought it was probably safe to assume that they’d told Laurens. A couple of texts from Mulligan, asking for details, confirms this suspicion.

Having no idea what (if anything) Hamilton has said on the subject, Burr doesn’t reply. Much harder to avoid is a call from Washington. He’s never been of a texter, being the sort of person who likes to make sure they get hold of the person they’re after.

‘Hey,’ Burr says, unsure whether somebody has put Washington up to calling. He hasn’t heard from him in ages, why is he being contacted now? Yet Washington is hardly a person to run errands for somebody else, nor does it seem likely that anyone would have asked him to.

‘Hi,’ Washington says. His tone is warm, so Burr relaxes a little. He doesn’t sound like somebody who’s been tasked with checking in.

‘What’s up?’

‘Work. There’s a lot of it nowadays.’

‘I’m sure.’ So far it resembles a social call, yet Washington’s brief reply suggests that there is a point he hasn’t got to yet.

‘I hear you’re campaigning for the student union.’

Of course. Here they are. It’s naïve to think they could have been heading anywhere else.

‘Yes.’

‘How’s that going?’ Washington was president last year. Could it be that he genuinely wants to hear the latest? Burr can’t imagine wanting to know anything about Richard Rodgers once he leaves.

‘It’s all right.’

‘Who else is running?’

If Washington doesn’t know that, it’s unlikely he’s been filled in on the latest. Burr breathes a little easier before replying.

‘Thomas Jefferson and Peggy Schuyler.’

‘Is that Eliza’s sister?’

‘Yes, younger. She’s in AS now. Dating Laurens.’

‘Oh, cool. I saw that on Facebook. Good for them.’

‘Yeah, they seem happy.’

‘How’s Hamilton? I haven’t spoken to him in a while.’

‘He’s OK,’ Burr pauses. ‘I’m the wrong person to ask.’

‘Have you fallen out or something? I thought you were, you know, close. He said you were his first friend at college.’

 _When?_ Burr wants to ask. There are a couple of times where he can imagine being important enough to Hamilton for Hamilton to tell Washington that, but what context was it in? What else did he say?

The speculation is useless, so he pushes it away. It doesn’t matter what he meant to Hamilton when he clearly means so little now.

‘We argued,’ he says, cautiously. Hamilton will probably fill in his side soon enough; Burr may as well offer his own defence. ‘And now he’s voting for Jefferson. It’s a mess.’

‘Really?’ Washington doesn’t laugh, but he’s clearly amused. Either Burr has unintentionally presented it as a funny story or Washington’s chosen to interpret it as such. ‘You must have really got to him.’

‘He hasn’t exactly been sunshine himself.’

‘Oh, I’m sure. Did he tell you about the time he nearly got beaten up by bar full of England fans because he called football moronic?’

‘No. As I said, right now isn’t our best time.’

‘It was funny, right up until I had to drag him away. Look, if there’s trouble I could try talking to him? He might listen if it’s from someone outside.’

‘No, I can handle it.’ He’s been handling it terribly so far, but nor does he want Washington to come along and be the parent. That would be admitting that he doesn’t know what to do. He’s not going to admit that with his campaign and certainly not with his private life.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Very.’

‘Let me know if you change your mind. Hey, you haven’t visited me yet, have you?’

‘No,’ Burr answers, refraining from adding, _I haven’t been invited._

‘You should come, I’ll give you a tour.’

‘Thanks, I’ll let you know.’

Washington starts talking again, about things that Burr’s heard about through the others. He hasn’t seen Washington in person since the march and they’ve barely been in contact. In the space of a few months, Burr has gone from being a trusted friend to someone on the periphery.

With an impulsive gesture that’s more typical of Hamilton than himself, Burr hangs up without saying goodbye. The rudeness of the gesture might offend Washington, or perhaps it looks like he got cut off by mistake. Whatever impression it gives, Washington doesn’t call back.

 

College is harder to handle, now that the fight has stopped being a secret and is now a topic of speculation.

‘Nobody would know if the two of you hadn’t been so dramatic,’ Angelica says despairingly, when he complains about this. ‘It wasn’t the most difficult thing to keep quiet.’

‘He’s been dramatic, not me,’ Burr insists.

‘Please. You’re behaving like twelve-year-olds. _My fuckbuddy dumped me and so the world has ended_.’

‘I don’t think twelve-year-olds have fuckbuddies _._ I hope they don’t.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘That’s not what we were, anyway.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before. My point is, you’ve been every bit as angsty as him. I’ve had to listen to enough of it. Tell you what, next year is going to be all about _me._ I’ll come to you with whiny problems and you can buy me ice cream.’

‘You’ve never bought me ice cream.’

‘It’s metaphorical.’

‘Next year we’ll be at different universities,’ he says. ‘Are you going to show up at my halls and demand I listen?’

‘Exactly. On weeks where I don’t want to take the train we can Skype.’

‘Really happy we have this arranged. Can we focus on the problem now, though? What should I tell people? Lafayette keeps asking what I’ve done to push Hamilton into Jefferson’s arms.’

‘If you were different people it would be harder, but as it’s you two you can say political argument and leave it at that. It’s believable.’

‘Mm. What if he’s said something different?’

‘It’s going to look weird whatever you do.’

‘OK.’

However vague it is, that explanation seems to work. Laurens is the hardest to convince, as he was hoping for better gossip, but he does grudgingly accept it. Hamilton does nothing to refute Burr’s explanation, and so as a topic it has every chance of fading into obscurity.

Then no more than a day later, Hamilton brings it all up again. Unsatisfied with merely voting for Jefferson, he now appears bent on securing Burr’s defeat by writing a campaign leaflet.

Officially it isn’t attributed to anyone, as it’s probably against the rules to have another student write for you. Nor is it completely impossible that Jefferson wrote the six-page leaflet himself. Yet the style smacks of Hamilton, and when Mulligan asks him if he wrote it Hamilton makes no denial. It’s a wonder that he’s refrained from bragging about it.

The leaflet itself reminds Burr of an advert for a theme park or city zoo. Except instead of ‘educational fun for all the family’ it’s ‘a president who won’t compromise his values’ and the design would give Angelica a headache. Burr wonders whether Ms Lockwood actually proofread all of it or gave up after the second page.

‘I can’t say it isn’t good,’ Madison says, at the start of a class. ‘Just slightly overwhelming.’

‘People don’t have to read the whole thing. The important part is that it leaves a good impression,’ Jefferson answers. It’s a mark of how much he wants to win that he’s accepted Hamilton’s help, when the rest of the time they’re at each other’s throats.

Burr has only skimmed the leaflet (having identified Hamilton’s penmanship) enough to gather the gist. Problems facing the student and administrative body have been carefully identified, assessed and then accompanied with what Jefferson as president would do to tackle them. Whether Hamilton actually ran these promises by Jefferson before producing the document is unclear.

Even if he wasn’t running against Hamilton, Burr would find himself agreeing with Madison. Students voting for a union president aren’t going to put that much energy into deciding who to vote for. Usually the person with the most posters and a couple of popular policies wins.

And Hamilton knows this. That’s what makes this really pointed. For all his enthusiasm, Hamilton must be aware that propaganda this long will largely go unread. Which then prompts the possibility that it was meant to annoy Burr as much as it was support of Jefferson. That, or Burr is the most self-absorbed person in the world.

Another awkward aspect of the situation is that their friends have to be as deliberately neutral as possible. It’s good to see that Hamilton’s dire predictions of them all flocking to him were unfounded, but it can’t be fun for everyone. They’re clearly impressed by Hamilton’s writing, yet none of them like Jefferson very much. Hopefully they’ll stick to their promise to vote for Burr, though the safe neutrality of choosing Peggy must be more appealing than ever.

No longer a distant event, the election itself is alarmingly soon. Up until now it had felt somewhat mythical, something that was never really going to happen – the way June exams do in February – and now it’s beginning to dawn on him that there’s nothing he can do to stop it. The only comforting part is the knowledge that while the election will come, so will whatever happens afterwards. He can concentrate on homework and hanging out with the guys and after a month or so no one will remember or care what’s happened.

Then, on Monday morning everyone gets an email with a link inviting them to vote. The polls stay open until Wednesday evening, with the announcement on Thursday. It wouldn’t be so big a window if the staff hadn’t correctly assumed that most students are lazy about checking their email.

Burr spends that week on edge, avoiding hanging around for too long in case the conversation goes in a direction he doesn’t like. He comes in at lunch on Thursday, as his only class of the day is in the afternoon. Not wanting to be in a group when the result is revealed, he tracks down Mulligan and the two retreat to the common room to practice pool.

It’s relatively empty, which comes as a surprise. The weather has taken a turn for the worse, with a steady rainfall that gives no indication of abating. Everyone must have run to shelter in Starbucks or have crammed themselves into the busy canteen.

He’s not complaining, though. The fewer people that are around the fewer there are to watch him fail. While he’s no longer embarrassingly bad he’d still rather avoid public judgement.

Angelica comes in halfway through the game. Last time Burr heard from her she said she was going to revise, and yet now she’s soaking wet. He still has yet to see her study by herself and if he didn’t know how good her grades were he’d think she was a slacker who constantly blew off work to hang out.

‘Ugh, pool,’ she says, walking over to watch the game. ‘It’s not fair if you get better at it and I don’t.’

‘You’d get better if you practiced,’ he reminds her.

She sighs. ‘I don’t like practicing. I prefer to be instantly good at stuff.’

‘Have fun at university,’ says Mulligan.

‘I _can_ ,’ she says, slightly irritated. ‘I just prefer not to.’

The rest of their friend group files in then. There’s still no news on the result of the election, so the dynamic is fairly amiable. Hamilton, Lafayette and Peggy come to watch the game while Eliza and Laurens sit down to discuss _Game of Thrones_. (‘I’m not sure show!Daenerys should rule when she’s driven by the idea that it’s her birthright…’/‘Mm, but what about Sansa as Queen in the North? That would be amazing.’)

It’s a lot less relaxing to play in front of an audience. Burr’s more self-conscious, which in turn affects his moves. Even worse, he can tell that Lafayette is just longing to give him advice.

‘I thought you couldn’t play,’ Hamilton says, when Burr steps back after his turn. The words themselves aren’t aggressive, yet the way Hamilton says it makes it appear an accusation.

‘I’m learning,’ Burr says, resenting the need to state the obvious.

Hamilton doesn’t respond to that, but crosses his arms and leans against the wall to have a better vantage point. Perhaps, in a different universe where they were friends, it would have been Hamilton and not Mulligan teaching Burr pool.

Lafayette drifts away to join the _Game of Thrones_ conversation, (‘What if they abandoned divine right for a democracy?’) and a few minutes later Burr wins. Both he and Mulligan were down to the black and it was a lucky shot, but he’ll take it. Especially as Hamilton was watching.

‘The practice thing does work,’ he tells Angelica, moving pointedly away from the pool table and Hamilton. In the last five minutes a dozen more people have come into the common room and he hadn’t noticed that Madison and Jefferson are among them.

‘Votes are in,’ Madison says loudly and Burr’s circle goes very quiet. There’s expectancy in the air. It reminds Burr of the moment in TV shows when the characters are in a hospital reception, waiting for news about an operation or a birth or the aftermath of some horrible accident.

Madison grins, enjoying being the centre of attention. ‘Congratulations,’ he says, his eyes moving from Peggy to Burr and settling on Jefferson. Addressing his friend, he adds, ‘You got it.’

In the minute that follows, half a dozen things happen at once. Jefferson whoops, high-fiving Madison and then beckoning Hamilton forward for a high-five. Peggy’s face falls and she turns away, comforted by Laurens and Eliza. Lafayette and Mulligan heckle Jefferson, Angelica sighs and Burr leaves the room.

It’s the best thing he can do without coming off as a sore loser. Nor do his opponents seem to be gracious winners; regardless of whether he’s meant or not he can’t watch them bask in their victory.

This is Hamilton’s fault. Jefferson was only doing OK until that stupid leaflet. Hamilton handed him the presidency on a silver platter, all because he couldn’t stand the idea of Burr doing something for himself. Something that he, Hamilton, hadn’t thought of doing first.

Eliza, the human personification of goodness and patience that she is, has followed him He has a bit of a head start, so it’s not until he’s on the stairs that she catches up and he realises that it was him she was coming after. It seems that everything at Richard Rodgers happens either in the common room or on a staircase.

‘Burr, are you OK?’

‘I’m good.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘If you’re going to tell me the answer, why ask?’

‘I realise I’m not the person you’d probably want to talk to, but I do know that this meant a lot to you.’

He stops to face her. ‘I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but really, stop. Unless you can give me tips on how best to knock Hamilton out.’

‘Very funny.’

‘I’m not kidding.’

She freezes up slightly. ‘You’re upset, which I understand. But if you harm Hamilton in any way I will kill you myself.’

Her resolve is scary. He’s never seen Eliza make a threat before.

He starts walking again, faster this time. She stays where she is. His brain is running too fast again. Even if Eliza is capable of exacting some terrible revenge, would that be so bad? If he got to Hamilton first, who cares what happens to him?

It’s not the kind of thought he’s ever had before, not seriously. He’s never been a violent person – his behaviour defending Peggy the other day proves it – yet the mental image of pounding Hamilton into the dirt gives him a kind of grim satisfaction.

Fighting in college would get them into huge trouble. Outside college, though, he could do what he liked and nobody apart from their friends would know about it. Hamilton isn’t the sort of person to tell, he’s got far too much pride.

And what could Eliza really do, anyway? She wouldn’t beat him up. Angelica could, with the muscles she acquired at the gym, but she wouldn’t either. It’s not to her taste or her style – meaning that it’s colossally stupid.

He’s on the bus home before he remembers the Politics class he didn’t go to. It’s impressive to have forgotten a double lesson, though he might have bunked even if he remembered. Two hours with Hamilton, Madison and Jefferson would surely end in somebody dying.

His phone vibrates three times in quick succession, indicating a series of texts. They’re from Angelica:

_“I’m sorry, but don’t do anything stupid”_

_“maybe get some alcohol/chocolate/ice cream and lie in bed for a bit”_

_“Jesus Mads and Jeffs are making out and I have no one to be salty with. pity me”_

He replies: _“dw I’m gonna be on Netflix. Give them my congratulations””_ hoping that she won’t see through his feigned carelessness.

*

Burr’s still angry the next morning. He spends five minutes before getting up wondering whether he can be the bigger person and move past it. The conclusion is that he can’t and won’t. After all, it’s not like Hamilton would even consider that.

He’s glad to find when he walks downstairs that his mother has already left for work. She’s certain to ask about the election at the next possible opportunity and he’s not ready to be philosophical about it yet.

Sitting on the bus, he wonders if his violent fantasies have passed. As the thought of punching Hamilton in the gut is still pleasant, he’s forced to acknowledge that they haven’t. It surprises him. Surely he’d much prefer to imagine exposing Hamilton’s part in Jefferson’s campaign, disqualifying Jefferson and landing them both in trouble. That sort of disgrace would hit Hamilton where it hurt, yet it wouldn’t give Burr the same satisfaction.

The real consequence would be Angelica. The Schuylers have always made it their policy to stick together and it’s very likely she would support Eliza. Even from her own perspective, it’s doubtful that she would condone his hitting Hamilton, not the way he wants to.

Mulligan, Lafayette and Laurens – who are sure to defend Hamilton in this case – he can bear to lose, he thinks. He will miss them, but it is an inevitable consequence. Angelica, though. He’s so accustomed to her part in his life and has enjoyed her friendship so much. It will hurt not to have Angelica there when he turns around, not to mention all the metaphorical ice cream he owes her.

He could push Hamilton in front of a car. There’s a bus stop down by the nearest highway, he could arrange a meeting there. Then, when Hamilton least expects it, push him as hard as he can and watch him go _squish._

No, that could be traumatic for a driver and would cause a bigger accident. It isn’t fair to involve anyone else. And he doesn’t want to _kill_ Hamilton. Just teach him a lesson. Just let some of the frustration out.

Lulled by the steady bumping of the bus, Burr closes his eyes and pictures it again. In his imagination, Hamilton is lying on the ground of some alleyway and Burr is straddling him, punching him repeatedly until his face is bloody. It conjures a strange emotion and Burr’s subconscious self is unsure whether he wants to fuck Hamilton or tear him apart. Possibly both.

Arriving at Richard Rodgers he’s slightly calmer. He’s got Philosophy first, which is beautifully devoid of Hamilton or anyone of that group. After lunch, though, it’s a single History lesson. Whatever he does to Hamilton in the future, he’s going to have to play it cool now.

Philosophy passes too quickly. He’s not paying attention for most of it, which isn’t great because they have a test next week and their teacher is the type to drop hints. He has a moment when he looks down at his notebook at the end of the hour and realises apart from the date and a neatly printed header, he hasn’t written anything. It’s not something that usually happens to him; normally he’s excellent at taking notes.

Angelica is waiting for him outside the classroom.

‘Have I done something?’ he asks, slightly taken aback. She’s got a purposeful expression, which isn’t often good news.

‘Not yet,’ she says, and he suddenly realises what’s going on. Eliza must have relayed their conversation yesterday and Angelica is here to pre-empt any rash decision.

Too bad for her, Burr’s already decided to let his anger settle into a cool resentment before acting.

He slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder and crosses to her side of the corridor, so as not to block the exit of the room. ‘What’s up, then?’

‘We’re going to have lunch and study.’

‘We can’t eat in the library.’

‘I know. We’re not going to the library.’

That gets to him. ‘Are you going to show me where you’ve been revising? I knew you were, somewhere.’

She ignores the question. ‘How’s reductive materialism?’

‘Apart from the humans-only clause, surprisingly appealing.’

They reach the staircase at the end of the corridor. Rather than going down and heading for the canteen, Angelica chooses the upward flight.

‘You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?’ Burr half-shouts, as they wade through the tide of students walking down.

‘That would ruin it,’ she replies.

Having started at the second floor, they continue to climb until they’re on the fifth and highest level. It’s deserted up there, all the students and staff having gone down to eat. Angelica leads him along the corridor to the far end, where she opens an unlocked storeroom and walks inside.

‘You’re joking,’ Burr says, following her after a beat. ‘You haven’t been studying in _here._ If this is an ambush of some kind – you’re not going to stage an intervention, are you?’

‘Shut up.’ She’s moving the cleaning equipment away from the far wall. Confused, he watches her for a moment, until he sees the rectangular outline and it clicks.

‘Shit, there’s a _door?’_ Stepping over a mop and a plastic bottle of detergent, he goes to help her clear the way. ‘Did you uncover a drug ring, hidden in plain sight in a London sixth form?’

She doesn’t grace that query with an answer. Once they’ve moved everything, the shape of the door is more obvious than ever. Feeling like a kid in an adventure novel, Burr brushes past Angelica to try the handle.

It’s locked. He shakes it, which does absolutely nothing, and releases it in disappointment.

‘Move,’ Angelica nudges him until he steps aside. He’s half expecting her to produce a hairpin and pick the lock, but when her hand dips into her pocket it is to bring out a gleaming key.

‘Jesus. Where – how – ’

‘In a minute.’ The key fits neatly into the lock and turns easily, clicking the door open. Grinning, Angelica holds it open for Burr.

It’s dark on the other side. He hesitates instinctively and then collects himself. He’s not a rule-breaker by nature, but Angelica wouldn’t do this unless she was confident of not getting caught.

‘There are stairs,’ she says. It’s just in time; his next stride hits the lowest step. Behind him, he hears her close the door. Whatever small light was left disappears.

Very confused, Burr keeps climbing. The steps don’t go up very far; he’s only just got into his stride when he finds himself treading on air and walks into what seems to be a wall.

‘Hold up,’ Angelica calls. She’s only just behind him; he moves to the side to let her squeeze past. There’s a moment of her fumbling with the key and then the door opens into daylight.

‘This,’ she says, walking out to give him space, ‘is where I’ve been studying.’

They’re on the roof.

It makes perfect sense, once Burr gets over his initial incredulity. From the fifth floor, the only place they could reach by going up is the roof. A wide grey expanse with some satellite dishes at the far end and a low parapet running round the edge, it’s not an obviously attractive space but has the strong appeal of being off-limits.

This certainly explained why she was soaked the other day and how he’s never seen her study.

‘This way.’ Visibly enjoying herself, Angelica walks over to the far edge. Standing, they can’t be seen from the street and the ground looks marginally cleaner. She sits down, pulls her bag onto her lap and takes her lunch out.

Burr settles himself a few feet away. ‘I repeat my question, _how?’_

‘One of the art teachers comes up here to smoke. I saw her in AS and realised there had to be a way onto the roof. She left the key in her office. I nicked it, had a copy made and then put it behind her desk, like it had fallen there. She didn’t report it, so I don’t think she realised.’ Angelica opens a plastic tub and starts eating the pasta inside.

‘And you’ve never been caught?’

‘Not yet. There have been close calls. It’s hardest getting out of the supply room, because if someone who knows the door is there sees you they’ll know.’

‘Why is all the stuff stacked against the door if it’s in regular use?’

‘I wouldn’t say _regular._ There’s not a lot of space in there – I don’t think it’s deliberate.’

‘We’re on the _roof.’_

‘Yes.’

He’s going to stop being impressed someday, but not for a while yet. This didn’t come close to anything he’d imagined. How the hell is he going to live without Angelica as a friend?

‘I don’t think I need to say that you can’t tell anybody,’ she says.

He nods. ‘Does anyone else know?’

‘Only Eliza. Peggy would want to show Laurens, and if he knew Lafayette and Mulligan would know too.’

‘Why are you showing me? If it’s a pity thing – ’

‘It isn’t.’

He scoots back a couple of inches and leans against the parapet. It’s about two foot high and supports his back easily. ‘What, then?’

‘I’m worried. It’s not often I can stop you from doing stupid things, but I might have a chance now.’

‘I ran in the election and lost. I don’t think I have any capacity to be stupid left.’

‘Eliza told me what you said yesterday.’

Here it was. At least he gets the gratification of having predicted it correctly. ‘And? I was pissed off.’

Finished with her pasta, she puts the tub aside and opens a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. ‘Yeah. I know that. But I also know you, and how good you are at holding grudges. I don’t think you’re going to let this go. Not without doing something.’

‘Like what? Invite Hamilton up to the roof and push him off?’ Burr laughs, but it sounds awkward.

She catches his eye. ‘Can you honestly tell me that you aren’t planning to do _anything?_ From tying his shoelaces together to full scale assault.’

‘I’m _not_ ,’ he lies. Maybe it’s a lie, he’s not sure. Her opinion of him is far too high; he’s got no plan and no defined idea of what he’d like to do. All he has is the deep-rooted idea that he’s got to communicate somehow the deepness of Hamilton’s betrayal.

‘You can’t blame him when it’s not all his fault.’

‘But it is! OK, yeah, there are a few things I’ve done that haven’t been great. I probably should have communicated my feelings or some shit like that, but the real problems here? They come from him.’

She shakes her head. ‘You can’t pin this all on him. Avoiding responsibility is fun and everyone does it, but you’re practically an expert. It’s like you have a victim complex. _Hamilton is not the reason you are upset._ You are. You messed it up yourself and now that Hamilton is behaving as any normal human being would, you’re trying to act like he’s out of order.’

‘He campaigned for _Jefferson._ ’

‘So? Jefferson’s not Voldemort. Whatever Hamilton’s done, he doesn’t deserve what you could do to him.’

‘I’m not the violent one, remember? I don’t get into fights. The last time I almost did was because I was looking out for your sister. Why would I do anything to Hamilton when he could wipe the floor with me?’

‘You make bad choices. It’s kind of a pattern.’

‘So that’s it. You brought me here to lecture me.’

‘If you want to look at it that way, then yes.’

‘What other way is there to look at it?’

‘In the way that I’m your friend and I care about you not fucking your life up. It was a _student union election_ , Burr, no one cares about it apart from the candidates. You can be upset that you lost, but this is an overreaction.’

‘I’m not upset because I lost, I’m upset because Hamilton made me lose. He doesn’t want anyone to be involved in politics apart from himself.’

‘I can’t help you, then. I can only say that I am not going to bail you out if you take it too far.’

He stands up. ‘Let me down, then? I’ve got History.’

She packs away the crisp packet and plastic container and walks him to the door. Burr casts one last sweeping look at the roof – this could be his last as well as first visit – and then descends into the dark.

 

Ten minutes later, he’s waiting outside the History room. Usually a person who hates fidgeting, he can’t stop tapping his foot and every five seconds rechecks his watch. Timothy hasn’t arrived to unlock the door yet and Hamilton is often early. It would be a whole new level of nightmare if they had to wait outside together.

Thankfully Timothy does arrive first, letting Burr and a couple of other people into the classroom. As he’s got there before Hamilton, Burr takes his usual seat. He can let the other boy decide whether he wants to sit next to him.

The rest of the room fills up slowly. Last period on a Friday afternoon, the class doesn’t have great attendance.

A couple of minutes before it’s due to start, Timothy calls Burr over. Burr has a five second panic about whether he’s done anything wrong before seeing the printed essay in Timothy’s hand and realizing he’s getting feedback.

‘It was an interesting read,’ Timothy says, indicating the comments he’s made in the margins. ‘I don’t have time to take you through every point, but if you’ve got questions let me know. The length unfortunately detracts from the quality. The first four paragraphs are excellent, you address the issue and answer the question. However because you then go on to analyse the wider context in such depth, the essay loses focus.’

‘OK,’ Burr says. ‘Yeah, that makes sense. I got carried away.’

‘The parts that were relevant were very good,’ Timothy assures him, passing the paper over. ‘I was surprised by it, though. If I hadn’t taught you for so long I would have thought you’d asked Hamilton to write it.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘I know. There were places where your writing style gave you away. Try to stick to the word count next time.’

Thanking Timothy again, Burr goes back to his seat. The room is as full as it’s going to get, and curiously there is no sign of Hamilton. Perhaps he understood Burr’s bunking yesterday to mean that they were going to mutually avoid each other.

Timothy waits another minute before starting the class, doubtless noting Hamilton’s absence. Though not the strictest person in regards to rules, Hamilton hasn’t skipped any classes recently. They’ve been doing too much content for it to be sensible. He’s very much not there though and eventually Timothy does start.

Hamilton doesn’t appear at all during the period. Burr’s uncertain whether to be relieved or feel let down. He didn’t _want_ to see him, but he had geared himself up for it. Now they won’t see each other until Monday, by which time he’ll have decided one way or another what to do.

Maybe something happened to Hamilton. Burr’s briefly nervous, before remembering that that’s what he wants. Yeah, that would be good: if tragedy him and it wasn’t even Burr’s fault. On the other hand, he does want the triumph of doing something himself.

He meets Lafayette on the stairs, after class. The first words out of Lafayette’s mouth are, ‘Have you seen Hamilton?’ which suggests that Burr’s not the only person being avoided.

‘No, he wasn’t in class. Has he been in at all today?’

Lafayette shakes his head. ‘No one has heard from him; he won’t answer calls.’

‘Have you asked Jefferson? He might have seen him.’

‘We did, he hasn’t.’ Lafayette frowns. ‘You’re still angry with him?’

‘Hamilton? Yes. But I haven’t seen him since yesterday.’

Lafayette hums something and then mutters to himself in French. It’s one of his mannerisms when he’s nervous and not one that’s very reassuring to see.

‘Perhaps you should go,’ he says, after a minute. ‘If you’re still angry – it’s not inviting. We’ll let you know if we find him.’

‘ _When_ you find him,’ Burr says, realizing while he’s saying it how absurd it is. He’s not worried about Hamilton, merely concerned that something has got to him before he can.

‘Yes,’ Lafayette agrees.

‘All right.’

He leaves as suggested, unable to think of a good reason not to. It will be good to be away from college, anyhow. Richard Rodgers does often have the effect of creating a goldfish-bowl atmosphere, where the outside world ceases to have any reality or importance.

He texts Angelica on the way home: _“Lafayette says no one’s seen Hamilton today. I haven’t done anything”_.

She replies; _“I know”_.

At home there is another excruciating experience awaiting him; telling his parents about the election. They are understanding in the sense that they don’t get it at all, and he’s very relieved when it’s over and he can retreat to his room.

Sometime around eight pm that evening he gets two messages, one from Angelica and one from Laurens. They both say the same thing; Hamilton was at home all day and is fine. He stares at his phone for a little while, trying to muster up some kind of reaction. Instead of the combination of relief and disappointment he’d come to expect, he only feels a dull nothingness.

Did Hamilton know what Burr was thinking this morning? Was that why he stayed away? Maybe Angelica warned him. If she had, she would have known where he was. Or did Hamilton feel guilty, and expect retribution? If that’s the case, if he does, then that means Burr is justified because he’s not the only one who expects Hamilton to be punished.

It takes him a long time to get to sleep that night.

 

He usually enjoys Saturday mornings, especially the hour or so before he starts homework. Getting up later than usual and having the time to fuss over breakfast are both treats that he spends the rest of the week looking forward to.

This Saturday is especially good because he gets the house to himself. His parents are off early on a trip to see some friends who live up north but have come down to London for a visit. He was invited, but the choice between socializing with adults he barely knows and having a clean, quiet uninterrupted space was not a difficult one.

Breakfast is more elaborate than usual; French toast with coffee and a Lidl pastry that was left out for him. He eats while listening to the radio and then leaves the dishes in the sink, reasoning he can wash them once he’s accumulated enough to make it worth the time.

He’s barely got any homework left, having done most of it earlier in the week to keep him busy and distracted. He reads through the sections he assumes they covered in the Politics he missed, writes a very late apologetic email for his absence and is wondering what to watch on Netflix when the doorbell goes.

It’s probably the postman or someone trying to raise charitable donations. He walks downstairs very slowly, slightly annoyed by the interruption of a relatively peaceful day.

He opens the door and feels everything get a lot more complicated.

‘Hi,’ says Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, my update schedule isn't appalling. I'm as surprised as you are. My chapter length, however, is all over the place.
> 
> If anyone's wondering about the theory of reductive materialism, you can read about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Type_physicalism
> 
> I can say with certainty that there is just one more chapter after this. I can say with less certainty when it's going to be, both because I'm not so great with the being regular and after tomorrow I'm going to be doing a lot more. (Right now I'm on holiday with fewer distractions from writing). 
> 
> (Yes, I'm living vicariously through Angelica because we were never able to get on the roof at my sixth form.)
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading! If you enjoyed or have any questions, please leave a comment or send me an ask at betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How on earth has Burr let someone who takes so many risks this close to him?

A beat later Hamilton adds, ‘Can I come in? I was hoping to talk to you.’

Burr stares, still in the midst of registering that Hamilton is really here and it’s not just an inconvenient hallucination.

‘If this is a bad time, I could come back,’ Hamilton offers. ‘I’m sorry I sprang this on you. But I knew where you live, and – wow that sounds creepy. It was not intended as a threat. Unless I was threatening conversation, which you do avoid a lot so I suppose it was _kind_ of a threat – ’

‘Alright,’ Burr interrupts. He takes a step backwards, opening the door wider. ‘You can come in.’

Taking advantage of the fleeting moment where his back is turned, he breathes deeply in an effort to prevent his brain from sliding into static. If he freezes up now he loses whatever chance this is.

The problem, which appeared in his mind almost as soon as he saw Hamilton, is that he can’t hurt the other boy at his own house. Unless he’s planning to literally murder, dismember and conceal him there is very little Burr can do. Meeting in a secluded spot to beat the shit out of Hamilton is one thing, but it’s going to be harder to get away from if it all happens in Burr’s family hallway.

Is that why Hamilton has come to him? The move is equal parts bold and stupid, which when you think about it is Hamilton in a nutshell.

How on earth has Burr let someone who takes so many risks this close to him?

They walk stiffly to the kitchen. Burr pauses by the living room door, but the memories that are attached to it are so wildly unsuitable that he keeps going. The kitchen is a nice, neutral space anyway. And it has lots of knives.

‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No thanks.’

Burr pours himself a glass of water and leans against the countertop, watching Hamilton. They seem to have landed in an awkwardly polite stage where they’re so pissed off with each other that the only workable way to interact is to behave as though they barely know each other.

Burr sips the water. Hamilton fiddles with his hands. This could go on for hours.

‘You weren’t in yesterday,’ Burr says eventually.

‘No.’

‘Timothy was disappointed.’

‘I emailed him after.’

Burr nods. It’s like they’ve switched their usual conversational positions; he’s babbling and Hamilton is saying as little as possible.

‘You said you wanted to talk to me?’ he prompts, when another few minutes have elapsed without Hamilton speaking.

‘Yes.’ Hamilton gathers himself. ‘I’d rather this wasn’t a fight, but it can be one if it needs to.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I think we should communicate. Have closure. I know we already argued, but it still feels like we’re in the indirecting each other on Facebook stage.’

Burr crosses his arms. ‘I don’t see the analogy.’

‘Because we’ve been doing things without speaking and it’s like we’re writing vaguely – ’

‘No, I’ll rephrase. I get it, it’s a shit analogy. _We_ haven’t been indirecting each other. _You’ve_ been writing vague statuses about me.’

‘So it’s all my fault?’

‘OK, let’s see. Yelling at me for having my own campaign, that was you. Voting for Jefferson out of spite – big surprise, you again. Writing fucking propaganda for Jefferson to make sure I lost. Disappearing from college to start drama and get people to worry about you. I’m not seeing where my actions feed into this.’ Halfway through, he realizes he doesn’t need to inflict any kind of physical harm. Just saying it is cathartic enough.

‘You were worried about me?’

‘ _People_ were. Lafayette, Angelica, probably Eliza. For all your bragging about how they’re your friends you were impressively shit to them.’

Hamilton’s face contorts. ‘So not you, then. Right, because I don’t matter unless I’m annoying you.’

‘Are you saying you try to do anything else?’

‘Do you _try_ to be thick, or does it come naturally? Really, I want to know.’

‘If you’re not here to apologise, why did you come?’ Burr crosses his arms.

‘I said, I wanted to talk.’

‘About what? Us? You haven’t said anything I haven’t heard before. What’s changed? Sad we aren’t fuckbuddies anymore?’

‘Fuckbuddies?’

‘Angelica’s word, not mine.’

‘You’ve been talking to her about this?’

‘Well, yeah. You’ve been talking to Eliza?’

Hamilton sighs, seeming to temporarily forget that he’s angry with Burr. ‘I’m sure they’re comparing notes.’

‘Did Eliza tell you to come here?’

‘Not really.’

‘Your own decision, then.’ They’ve reverted to skirting around the topic, back in that safe zone where they’re talking about other people. It won’t last, though. When it’s a conversation between the two of them, any calm is always fleeting.

‘If I ask why you’re so hostile about talking are you going to answer, or ask me why I want to know?’ Hamilton says, as though he hasn’t been replying with questions of his own.

‘I don’t see what there is to say,’ Burr says. He has no interest in letting Hamilton hurt him further and that is what will happen if they keep talking. He doesn’t need the fact that he’s only ever been an accessory in Hamilton’s life to be spelled out for him. Funnily enough, he realised that by himself. ‘You’re angry with me and I’m angry with you. We aren’t friends and in six months’ time we can go to different universities and never see each other again.’

‘Did you always want this to fail?’

‘I didn’t _want_ it to fail, but I knew it would.’

‘Is that why you’ve been such an dickhead about it?’ Hamilton is almost smiling now. He takes a couple of steps forward. Burr would like very much to back away, but the kitchen counter behind him blocks any retreat.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I _mean,_ is that why you’ve treated me like shit? OK, maybe I let you do it because it was that or nothing. But it was still shit. And I spend more time fighting for other people than myself so it’s taken me too long to stop and realise that this isn’t what I want and I can do better than settling for whatever fucked-up arrangement you’re happy with.’

‘ _I_ treated you like shit? How – ’

‘Yeah, you did. I said I liked you, which was a big fucking deal for me but apparently not for you. I spent the next few weeks trying to figure out whether you actually liked me or whether you just liked … what we were doing.’ Hamilton takes a deep breath. ‘But it was just the second one, right? ‘Cause any time I tried to talk about what it was or what we were you’d leave. I should have left you then; suppose it’s my fault then. I liked you too much to leave.’

Burr says nothing. His mind is even more scrambled than when he saw it was Hamilton at the door – if that’s possible.

Hamilton _likes_ him. _Like_ likes him. Telling Burr about the sex dream wasn’t a sleazy come-on, it was an awkward attempt at an asking-out.

‘ _Fuck,’_ Burr says. ‘I didn’t – I didn’t know.’

‘How could you not know? I did everything apart from tattoo _please date me_ on my chest.’

‘I thought you wanted to hook up. I didn’t think there were feelings.’

‘I’m me. Feelings are my thing.’

‘No, self-absorption is your thing. Arguing is your thing.’ He’s spent enough time with Hamilton to make a fully comprehensive list, but the highlights will have to suffice right now. ‘You draw people to you like you’re fucking beacon and you don’t even notice it. You’re clingy and oblivious at the same time, you don’t notice the effect you have on people. So yeah, I didn’t think you had feelings. I assumed you were fucking with me, or dropping the information without thinking about how it would look.’

‘But you’re _you._ You get stuff. Subtlety.’

‘I didn’t get this.’

‘Yeah.’ Hamilton shifts. ‘Look, I’m sorry for being a dick about the election. It felt like the only way I could get your attention.’

‘The only way? In this very house, you – ’

‘Yeah,’ he interrupts, ‘but it never really felt like you were there. I thought…maybe you were thinking about somebody else. And I was convenient.’ Hamilton’s voice doesn’t quite break, but there’s a definite tremor there that wasn’t present before.

‘I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,’ Burr says. ‘I didn’t think you _could_ feel like that.’

‘And you said you knew me.’

‘You admit that’s why you supported Jefferson?’ He really ought to let this go, but he insisted so many times that it was Hamilton being petty that he wants to know he’s right.

‘Well, yeah.’

‘Could you tell Angelica that? I’m sorry, I …’

‘Want to gloat,’ Hamilton finishes. ‘Yeah. Sure.’

‘For future reference, angry texts will do.’

‘Is there going to be a future to reference? I mean, can we be friends?’ Hamilton looks down. ‘I would like that.’

‘Yeah. Me too.’

‘Eliza’s going to be proud of us. Communicating.’

Burr smiles. It feels like a long time since he’s done so in Hamilton’s direction. ‘OK. There are still a couple of things I want to say, though.’

‘All right.’ Hamilton starts making himself comfortable, leaning against the table behind him.

‘If we’re going to be friends, you have to put the work in too. The first few weeks of college, you wanted to hang out and then you disappeared because Lafayette and Washington and other people were more fun.’

‘I was avoiding you because I liked you, remember?’

Liked, past tense. It doesn’t matter. Burr’s only picking up on it because he’s fine-tuned to overanalyze everything Hamilton says about him.

He shouldn’t ask whether Hamilton meant to phrase it that way. They’re moving towards a good setup. Friendship would probably be best for both of them. There’s too much weird history for it to be anything else.

‘I do have to ask, though,’ Hamilton says, in a tone that worries Burr. It takes him a moment to identify why, realizing a beat later that it sounds masochistic. Hamilton’s asking, but he really doesn’t want to know the answer. ‘Were you, um, thinking of someone else?’

‘What?’

‘When we were together. You know why I was into it, but why were you? If it wasn’t anything, that’s OK. I mean, it isn’t, but you didn’t think I thought it was anything, so it balances out.’

‘I wasn’t thinking about anyone but you,’ Burr says.

‘So you do – you did like me?’

‘Yes.’

‘But not enough to date me?’

‘No. Yes. I’m not sure. It’s complicated.’

‘I’ve got all day. You’ve heard everything about me.’

Burr takes a moment to compose himself. This is not a situation he ever envisaged being in; he always thought he could rely on Hamilton and himself not to be sensible enough to have honest conversations about things. He hasn’t been able to explain this to Angelica, who understands him better than any friend should.

But hey, it’s not like he can make it much worse. This new truce and the possibility of friendship is all he has to lose and, dear to him though they are, even he can recognise that he does owe Hamilton some answers.

‘I do like you,’ he says slowly, allowing his gaze to drift over to the sink and fix on the pile of dishes. They’re easier to look at than Hamilton; they don’t make eye contact. ‘A lot. It took me a while to realise it. I don’t think I did properly until in the library, when you told me. I kissed you because I wanted to and … everything else we’ve done, because I wanted to. I wanted you.’

The words sound flat, inadequate. He pauses, and tries again.

‘A relationship between us wouldn’t work. We both know that. Maybe it would last for a day or a week or a month but it wouldn’t _last_. I realised this, when I realised I liked you. I suppose it was a defense mechanism kicking in, telling me not to start something that would be bad for us both. I wasn’t just thinking about me.’

Hamilton is frowning. ‘You didn’t want us to date in case we broke up?’

‘No. That makes it sound clumsy. I _thought_ about this. And it’s true. We’re incompatible. Just being around you can make me nervous. No part of me fits with you.’ Hamilton’s got to understand, he _needs_ to understand. ‘I shouldn’t have … used you, it was unfair. I thought it was the only way we could have anything.’

‘I think I get it.’

‘I’d understand if you didn’t.’

Hamilton looks at Burr, at his hands, and then back to Burr. ‘Do you still like me? I still like you.’

The word takes a surprising amount of effort. ‘Yes.’

‘Why are we talking about being friends, then?’

‘You’re right. We can’t.’ Burr tries to hide how much his heart is sinking. ‘It would be weird. D’you think we’ll have to tell the others everything or just say we talked and are going to avoid each other from here on.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I don’t know that we can be not-friends and still in the same group. It didn’t work before.’

‘You missed my point. I was going to say, if the feeling of liking is mutual then why don’t we date? It’s not impossible.’

‘It will be weird. Things have happened.’

‘I can get past it.’ Hamilton’s gone back to being earnest, which is really unfair because it has a strange effect on Burr’s ability to think clearly.

‘We couldn’t then. Why is now any different?’

‘Why couldn’t we then?’ Hamilton asks. He moves forward again, accompanying his words with gestures. ‘You like me, I like you. It would be stupid to not be together in case something bad happens. And that’s not up to you, anyway.’

‘It’s not just that.’

‘Then what is it? That you think we’re incompatible.’

‘ _Yes._ ’ Maybe it will damn him forever to say it, to make it real by bringing it into the world outside his head. Maybe. ‘I’m a very organized person. I like to know what’s going on, what I’m doing. I want people to obey the rules. If everyone sticks to a system that makes sense, things work out. And you – you’re not like that. You can do whatever you want and it still somehow works out for you. I don’t know how you land on your feet every time, but you do.

‘I can’t do that. I have to plan. If I do everything that I’m supposed to do, it will pay off. I don’t expect things to twist in my favour, not if I haven’t worked for it.’

‘You think I don’t work?’

‘I know you do. But you’re always asking the universe for more. Pushing yourself to the limit and expecting that because you’ve done that, everything else is going to fall into place. Everyone else doesn’t exist to accommodate you; you can’t rely on them to hold you up.’

‘So I can’t be your boyfriend because I’m too spontaneous?’

‘We would fight. All the time. I can’t be the person you want me to be. And don’t say I am, I know you wish I were more like the others. Willing to follow you onto whatever stupid bandwagon you’ve found for this week. I won’t, I can’t do that.’

‘I never asked you to. Yeah, we’re different, but so what?’ Hamilton shakes his head. ‘I _like_ that you’re methodical. That you think about things before doing them. It makes you good at stuff, it even makes you better. Yes, I get frustrated by it. Maybe it’s ‘cause I can’t do it. Either way, I know who you are.’

‘You can accept my flaws, that doesn’t mean I’m cool with yours. Yeah, me liking you does mean I don’t find you as annoying. But I will sooner or later. I know myself and it’s not fair to date you only to wake up one day and discover that I find half your mannerisms unbearable and have to break up with you when I knew that’s who you were in the first place.’

‘It’s about you dumping me, then? Not us breaking up?’

‘Both.’

‘What I said is still true. We don’t avoid the good things because they might lead to bad things.’

‘Don’t we? I would enjoy not doing my homework to read up on Genghis Khan but it would lead to my failing the exam.’

‘The comparison doesn’t make sense. We would work together. We balance each other out. Couldn’t we at least try it?’ his gaze is pleading. ‘If it’s a genuine disaster, I’ll formally concede that you were right. If not, I get to say _I told you so._ ’

‘You’re not making it very appealing.’

‘Would you like to date me? We could go to bad movies and argue about Charles I and have sex.’

‘More appealing now.’

‘Think of it like the election.’

‘What? Something that we’re going to fight and be petty about?’

‘No, something that you wanted.’ Hamilton softens. ‘When you’re after something, you don’t always take it. The presidency was the first thing I’ve seen you demand for yourself. If you want this, want me, take me.’

There’s a pause while Burr thinks, and then Hamilton adds, ‘That wasn’t supposed to sound so euphemistic.’

Burr lets out a surprised laugh, and then once he’s started he can’t stop. Hell must have frozen over because Hamilton is right about something. Not much, not everything, but it’s possible he’s right about this. Perhaps they’re doomed regardless of whether he thinks they are or not but there is only one way to find out.

‘OK,’ he says, when he’s stopped laughing.

Hamilton’s grin could rival the Cheshire Cat’s. ‘So we’re dating?’

‘Yes.’ Burr’s astonished to realise that the tension is leaving his body, as though it had known all along that this was what he wanted and had been too much of an arsehole to tell his brain.

Satisfied with that confirmation, Hamilton almost runs forward. His hands grab hold of Burr’s shoulders and then he slows, slows right down until they’re staring at each other and Burr can see his face reflected in the other boy’s irises.

‘I missed you,’ Hamilton says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. He’s already revealed so much – they both have – and yet this feels like the most vulnerable admission yet.

‘Me too.’ Burr places one hand round his waist and uses the other to brush a stray hair out of Hamilton’s face. He tilts his head, enjoying the fact that Hamilton is here and he doesn’t have to worry about either of them running away.

Hamilton leans in, his own hands sliding up to rest on Burr’s shoulders. His lips are warm and familiar and he tastes of everything that Burr’s been missing.

They stand there for a good ten minutes, kissing against the kitchen counter, their hands rediscovering each other. Burr can’t believe he ever thought Hamilton belonged anywhere else but right here with him. They’ve got too much time to make up, too many things that they should have done months ago.

‘Wait.’ Burr pulls back. They’re both breathing hard. ‘Upstairs?’

Hamilton nods vigorously. ‘Upstairs is good.’

Barely a minute elapses before they’re on the bed and making out again, their bodies sliding together. Burr’s weight is pushing Hamilton down into the mattress and he’s realizing that his bed is so much nicer when Hamilton is in it.

Hamilton tugs Burr’s shirt off over his head and then, showing the kind of thinking Burr approves of, sets to work unbuttoning Burr’s trousers. Burr reciprocates: freeing Hamilton from his T-shirt and his jeans so that they’re both in their underwear.

Hamilton’s skin is very warm and there is a gleam in his eyes as he runs his palms up Burr’s legs, up all the way and then pausing at the top. Burr’s breath catches in his chest as the exploration continues. Hamilton’s touch is gentle to the point of teasing, a reminder that he can be annoying in every walk of life.

Burr lets a shaky breath out and prepares to lose himself.

 

 

 **Angelica Schuyler:** AARON BURR

What happened???

I know you’re online

unless Facebook is lying to me

Hamilton texted Eliza 20 mins ago saying he was at yours and it was fine

so what’s up?????

could have been you on his phone but that guy has insane passwords so it’s unlikely

Burrrr

come on don’t do this to me

First madison and jefferson (who are a confirmed couple now its horrible)

now this

I know I said I wanted gossip I DIDN’T MEAN THIS

_Aaron Burr is typing…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. It is done. From a hastily compiled chapter plan one (November?) evening to a fully fledged fic that took way, way too long to write.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's bookmarked, left kudos and especially those who commented. You guys have all been so fantastic and made the process so much more fun. I'm sorry my update schedule was such a mess! 
> 
> Thank you also to Carol, my incredible girlfriend, for listening to and encouraging the rough plan of this fic when I first thought of it, and for supporting it every step of the way. 
> 
> *edit: at some point I'll be putting photos of everyone's timetables/notes on my tumblr - it will be tagged "writer things"*  
> Have a good summer!


End file.
